QR / Chapter 15 - Walking Blind
Title: Quiet Revolution / Chapter 15 - Walking Blind
Author: street scribbles
Rating: PG 13
Summary: Both Draco and Hermione have conversations with people who suddenly decide to make surprise visits into their lives.
A/N: I miss you guys. Life is ridiculously crowding me and finding time to eat has even become difficult. But, anyway.. hopefully this helps a bit.
The last chapter was, by far, my favorite to write. This one.. does not come close. It's not action packed and as intense. And I don't know if it'll garner as much liking as the last chapter did.. but c'est la vie. It's still necessary, it's still important to me.. and I hope you guys like it in the end, anyway. :)
Link:
Chapter 15 - Walking Blind
I am colorblind
Coffee black and egg white
Pull me out from inside
I am ready, I am ready, I am ready
I am fine
Counting Crows - Colorblind
“Harry!” Hermione’s voice bolted out of her mouth before she even had time to move. She fought through the sticky swarm of people, like tearing through thick life-sized Velcro pieces, and enveloped him in a swallowing hug, exhaling deeply against the fabric of his jacket.
He smelled of ashes.
She let go and saw Ron right behind him, a massive cut right across his cheek.
“Oh, Ron!” Hermione cried out and dove into his arms as well, hugging him fiercely. “What happened?” she cried, placing her hand on his cheek.
He cringed, but didn’t tell her to take it off. “S’okay,” Ron muttered, his voice surprisingly low. “Bloody Wormtail. I would have wiped him out. Seriously, I would have, if it weren’t---”
“What’s the word?” A loud voice called from behind the three. The bulk of the Gryffindor Tower was still crowded around Ron and Harry in anticipation from today’s battle. The war so far had been grim and long, and the support came in huge waves… but the fear seemed to linger the longest in the night. It was a feeling Hermione knew Harry and Ron did not need right now. They needed rest.
She turned to the rest of the Gryffindors. “I think,” she started cautiously. “As a Prefect--”
Everyone knew there was really no arguing when it came to Hermione Jane Granger, Gryffindor Prefect. Sixth Year. Ranking: 1.
There was a collective groan as students began to make their way back up into the dormitories. Ron elbowed Harry and grinned appreciatively at Hermione. Harry beamed, as well.
“You’ll hear all the stories you want tomorrow!” Hermione called after the crowd. “Even heroes sleep, you know!”
“Heroes, eh?” Ron said, smirking a bit as he sunk into the thick, plush, comfortable couch. He patted the seat next to his and Harry took the liberty of gingerly sitting down on it. Ron scowled at Harry, who didn’t notice, and Hermione sat on the floor, hugging her knees and looking up at them.
“So---”
“You’re okay,” Hermione interrupted Harry. “And that’s all that matters. Details in the mornings, and I mean that… Ron, I want a full report on what you could seek out from Godric’s Hollow, and Harry make sure that you write down neatly and thoroughly what you saw at----”
“We’re okay and that’s all that matters,” Ron boasted loudly. “How very kind of you, Hermione. So true, so true.”
Harry let out a hearty belly laugh and Hermione found herself flinching.
“Harry, how do you do it?” Hermione whispered, her voice wading into the warm crackling fire in the background. “Laugh and smile at a time like this.”
There was a comfortable pause as Ron settled back in his seat and Harry looked down at Hermione.
“I don’t know.” Harry shrugged and leaned back against the couch, placing his hands behind his neck to relax. He paused again before he spoke.
Harry was doing a lot of that lately. Pausing. Or maybe thinking.
“My whole life has been a chance, the next day was always dreaded and now that it’s not like that; I don’t even mind fighting. At least I know what I’m fighting for.”
“What are you fighting for?” Ron asked curiously, jabbing him.
“Us,” Harry said, cracking a grin.
“Hermione’s going to cry now,” Ron groaned.
“Shut up!” Hermione said, fighting back tears. She turned to look at Harry. “Harry, you’re brave and you’re wonderful and you know that once this War is over, you’ll finally get the life you deserve, right?”
“I don’t need that,” Harry said. “I’ve got you guys and it’s really not all that bad.”
“It’s really not,” Ron admitted. “I mean, we’re sort of unbeatable. This is just our year to finish things up, eh mate?”
Harry grinned back at Ron and Hermione bit her lip. Both the boys knew she was fighting to dish out a huge portion of reality to them, but they were grateful that she didn’t.
She really was not all about that. Pessimism or logic or anything like that. Deep down inside, she was all about the dreams.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Harry said as he reached into his pocket. Ron nodded and Hermione looked up at the two, confused.
In Harry’s gloved palm was a crumpled pink flower. It had flourishing petals, wrinkled from being in his pocket and a thick green stem.
“It survived the whole journey back here?” Hermione cried. “Oh! It’s so pretty, we have to add water to it now!”
“It was the only flower Ron and I saw today anywhere… we took it as a sign and thought we’d give it to you.” Harry cracked another grin.
“So you obviously know it’s his idea and not mine,” Ron said, rolling his eyes.
Hermione grinned at Ron. “Really, now?”
“Well, all I mentioned was that mum had a few nice vases at home!”
Hermione kept grinning at Ron as she gently plucked the flower off Harry’s palm and scrambled to find a place to hold it. She came back a few minutes later, the flower in an empty, cleaned out butterbeer bottle and placed it on the floor in between them.
And as the three sat closely together, knit warmly in their unbreakable circle, Hermione looked up at Ron, and then at Harry and then to the flower and then down at her knees that she was hugging close to her chest and she thought that they would be immortal.
And not one petal had fallen.
Memories like that were the most awful kind. The most golden, glorious kinds of nostalgic thoughts were the stuff that cynics were made of. Who didn’t enjoy an awful blast from the past where everything went awfully wrong and then to wake up from it all to relish in the fact that perhaps life back then wasn’t so great to yearn for after all?
This was the exact opposite. Hermione woke up feeling hollow and the back of her throat was dry. Her eyes were crusted with bad sleep and her hair felt sticky as random strands stuck to the side of her face.
She had not slept well.
But she was not upset or sad or felt like she was sitting at the edge of crying. She was numb and so familiar with this empty sort of swirling vortex in her that she simply shivered.
It was really, really cold.
Draco was nowhere around. Usually, when it was cold, it meant he was somewhere nearby. She looked over to see that Lavender or Parvati had cracked a window open; the scent of early Spring was blowing softly into the room.
Hermione walked over to shut the window and sat at her bed quietly for a few moments, waiting for Draco. She peered over at her desk to see the same flower that she had remembered in her dreams and turned away from it. The sight of it made her feel distorted.
Draco never came, and with the window closed… it was suddenly warm again.
* * *
Ron could not take it anymore. And when Ron Weasley had bottled enough in him to finally break the glass, he found that it was always in the stupidest possible way, using the stupidest possible words.
“I heard you’re going out with a Slytherin!”
Hermione looked up in surprise and Ron looked down back at her, aghast at himself more than anything for even stopping in front of her table and for opening his big, stupid mouth.
She was so angry. First Draco and now this.
“I also heard that you’re one of the worst friends in the world!” she shouted.
Ron looked taken aback and shocked, as if her reaction should have been of warmth or something. But then he found himself to be stumbling backward, blindly grasping for a proper way to react.
“So it’s true!” Ron declared. “Blaise Zabini! Hermione, you could get killed - did you know he---”
“Was on the other side, right? Exactly what side are you on right now? Do we even have sides right now?”
She froze.
There’s no black and white now and everything is just fucking grey, and I hate to break it to you… but we’re both grey!
Draco’s words rung in her tears and the footages of his voice in her ears clinched painfully, as if she had just elevated herself high into the clouds. Or maybe perhaps sunk so low that she was in hell.
That’s what Hogwarts felt like to her now, anyway.
“Of course we have sides!” Ron cried. “We’re always going to have sides! Which one are you even on?”
She slammed her book shut, alarming the three Second Years eating behind her as they turned around curiously, and tossed it carelessly into her book bag before getting up, not missing a moment’s worth of time as her eyes stayed leveled with his.
Ron’s eyes were not as lively as they had been before when she liked to laugh at his immature jokes and listen to his banters about Slytherin. They now looked worn and used way past the expiration date and she wondered if he saw any difference in her eyes.
Because she didn’t feel any different around him at all, she found that she still loved him.
But the only thing different now was that she was so tired of fighting any war, any battle, that the love wasn’t enough to make her stick around this time.
“Don’t you miss me?” Hermione whispered.
Ron stared at her, his mouth hung open and he couldn’t speak.
She didn’t even bother to shed tears; this moment wasn’t even worth that. She merely turned on her heal, and with weak knees, walked away.
Ron looked after her until she disappeared into a turn of the corridor, before sitting down, slumping his shoulders defeat. “I miss you,” he called out finally.
Ron Weasley had also believed that they would be immortal.
* * *
“Ten galleons says this fucker doesn’t skip,” Draco muttered as he gripped the rock tightly in his gloved palm before tossing it into the water.
It did skip though, and very nicely, as it lapped across the cold lake water. Draco’s eyes widened. This was the first time he was rewarded for anything in a long time, he realised. And Hermione wasn’t even around for that. Maybe she had been his bad luck charm after all.
To put it lightly.
…Bitch.
“Yes!” Draco roared as his second rock skipped as well. He felt such a brand new sense of relief rush through his veins that he jumped up into the air, and then found his boots slipping against the flat rocks below his feet as he promptly crashed, headfirst onto the rocky banks of the river.
How do you save someone you can’t even feel? He thought to himself right before his Wanderer’s body fell into a state of unconsciousness.
“Draco.”
His head felt light and as if it were floating freely, detached to his body as he looked up, he was sitting upright next to the lake still, but in front of him was a girl with glowing skin and shiny light blonde hair.
Sabrina.
And her blond hair was what did Draco in every time. Time and time again, she would never cease to remind him of his mother. And he loved his mother fiercely. He wondered if there was some sort of alteration done to every Wanderer’s Guide to represent the one person in their life that they had immortalised love for.
“Draco,” she said. “It’s been quite sometime?”
He shrugged. “She’s a difficult person, you know that.”
Sabrina smiled lightly. “I’m sensing that you’re feeling warmly for her.”
“It’s kind of hard not to,” Draco snapped, and then immediately felt remorse for being such a prat to her. “I mean, I’m with her all the time… something’s bound to thaw. Ice doesn’t mix with heat for so long without results.”
“You spent your whole life with your father and there was never any warmth.”
“That’s because we were both ice. Ice and ice don’t do shit, except maybe stick to the other and be frozen painfully together.”
And he wondered why he felt bad even for light profanity.
“No,” she said. “You were heat.”
“I don’t want to talk about my father,” Draco said hoarsely. “I just want to leave, please, haven’t I had enough of this hell on Earth here? I just… I want to get out of this place… this HELL! This place, this place where I’m so numb.”
“You will be able to,” she said softly. “When you’ve completed your task.”
“My task?” Draco spat out, standing up straight and looking at her fiercely, knees wobbling all the same in her presence. “Surely you’ve been watching us! Don’t you see what we’re doing? Wanting to meddle with time - illegal spells and whatnot!”
He couldn’t believe the mass of disgusting word vomit dribbling ferociously out of his mouth. He had ruined it, their whole plan.
Now he would never be able to live again.
But for some reason, he didn’t care. He was still so angry and found that his mood had not worsened. It was just exactly the same as it had been before. When he was thinking about Hermione.
“And she, she is fucking impossible to deal with!” he finished.
“Do you know what comes from meddling with time?” Sabrina asked softly.
“No clue, but I bet it’ll end up with me being in the shitter somehow,” Draco said bitterly.
Sabrina shook her head. “Meddling with time is only illegal in the living Wizarding world, Draco. Though I am sure it is not looked at so fondly in the Muggle world either.”
“Those fucks don’t even have the resources for that,” Draco said.
“You do not know that and I do not know that. But as I was saying, the concept of time and its alternation is only frowned upon in the living world for Wizards, here in the afterlife, Dark Magic and spells are merely household concepts that hold the common knowledge of being somewhat secretive and restricted in this world.”
“So what I’m doing isn’t illegal and you know about it.” Draco said blandly.
“What you’re doing isn’t illegal in our books, had we books.” She smiled. “And I do know about it. But--”
“Because there’s always a ‘but’” Draco muttered.
“It is also commonly known that time is a powerful tool in any world, and if you are prepared to tamper with it, there will be very harsh decisions for you to make in the end and very, very strong results that you may not have the capacity to handle.”
“I’ve experienced death,” Draco said, almost brightening at the thought of Sabrina not forbidding him to continue the spell. “I think I can handle anything after this.”
“Everyone will experience death,” Sabrina said softly. “It seems you are requesting the possibility to experience it again, and I do not understand that.”
“The spell is to turn back time,” Draco said. “That’s me requesting to experience life again, can’t you see that?”
“Life,” Sabrina said, “is not literal. I do not know that any spell, even the most powerful of the time meddling ones, can grant you that. You can find a beating heart and real blood and senses, Draco - yes, of course. But you cannot find life.”
“But it’s what I want!” Draco cried, feeling desperate. He hated this, he always felt desperate.
“What you should want is what Hermione Granger wants, because she is your mission, Draco.”
“Fuck that,” Draco spat. “I’m so sick of hearing that! What about me, what about me?!”
“Draco, good luck,” Sabrina whispered.
“Wait! I have more questions! Do I need to hit myself with a rock again for you to come back?”
And she was gone.
* * *
Just minutes after her painful confrontation with Ron, Hermione darted out of the Great Hall and straight into Blaise Zabini.
He had a certain way of moving, there was so much assurance and arrogance in his stride. Blaise was not about the smirks or the lazy drawls or the witty banter, but he always had this smoldering gaze set on everything, everything was pulled off in the most standoffish way as it possibly could have been and he walked with so much grace and ease that made girls want to change that.
Girls wanted Blaise Zabini to be flustered.
“Where are you going?” he asked her casually.
She made her way past him and made the effort to turn around. “My room,” she said softly.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She cocked her head to the side and studied him carefully. Had Draco ever asked her that? No, she didn’t remember him ever genuinely asking her that. It was more like Draco being force fed anti cough potion in order to get better; he always had some figurative eye roll attached to everything he asked her.
And that made her so angry.
But Blaise, right now, settled her nerves a bit.
“I think I’ll be okay,” she smiled lightly. “How do you feel about Hogsmeade?”
“A bit predictable, don’t you think?” he had a small, playing smile on his lips. She felt her heart skip a light beat and breathed quietly.
“That’s exactly what I need these days.”
“And you expect me to deliver that?” he raised an eyebrow a little too sardonically for her tastes, but she remembered that he had asked her out first.
And then she saw that he was still smiling at her. Another tiny flutter in her chest.
She smiled back. “I don’t really expect anything these days anymore.”
He nodded. “Hogsmeade it is, then… Hermione.”
Thump thump thump.
She couldn’t stop smiling on her way back to her room after that. It felt like Third Year when Ron told her he admired her for slapping Draco. It felt good. It felt like a normal, human emotion and it was close to happy.
It was only when she saw the truth coin on her desk, tales up, that the smile disappeared from her face.
She covered the coin with a book and proceeded to clean for the rest of the afternoon in silence. Cleaning relaxed her and it never disappointed in the end.
* * *
Draco snapped and found himself back on the floor, the position he was in right after he had slipped earlier. He rubbed his head, which normally would have been bumped and bruised and throbbing, but he felt nothing.
He just felt empty again.
Draco picked up another rock and tossed it into the lake.
This one sunk straight to the bottom with no noise.
<< PREVIOUS | NEXT >>
Author: street scribbles
Rating: PG 13
Summary: Both Draco and Hermione have conversations with people who suddenly decide to make surprise visits into their lives.
A/N: I miss you guys. Life is ridiculously crowding me and finding time to eat has even become difficult. But, anyway.. hopefully this helps a bit.
The last chapter was, by far, my favorite to write. This one.. does not come close. It's not action packed and as intense. And I don't know if it'll garner as much liking as the last chapter did.. but c'est la vie. It's still necessary, it's still important to me.. and I hope you guys like it in the end, anyway. :)
Link:
Chapter 15 - Walking Blind
I am colorblind
Coffee black and egg white
Pull me out from inside
I am ready, I am ready, I am ready
I am fine
Counting Crows - Colorblind
“Harry!” Hermione’s voice bolted out of her mouth before she even had time to move. She fought through the sticky swarm of people, like tearing through thick life-sized Velcro pieces, and enveloped him in a swallowing hug, exhaling deeply against the fabric of his jacket.
He smelled of ashes.
She let go and saw Ron right behind him, a massive cut right across his cheek.
“Oh, Ron!” Hermione cried out and dove into his arms as well, hugging him fiercely. “What happened?” she cried, placing her hand on his cheek.
He cringed, but didn’t tell her to take it off. “S’okay,” Ron muttered, his voice surprisingly low. “Bloody Wormtail. I would have wiped him out. Seriously, I would have, if it weren’t---”
“What’s the word?” A loud voice called from behind the three. The bulk of the Gryffindor Tower was still crowded around Ron and Harry in anticipation from today’s battle. The war so far had been grim and long, and the support came in huge waves… but the fear seemed to linger the longest in the night. It was a feeling Hermione knew Harry and Ron did not need right now. They needed rest.
She turned to the rest of the Gryffindors. “I think,” she started cautiously. “As a Prefect--”
Everyone knew there was really no arguing when it came to Hermione Jane Granger, Gryffindor Prefect. Sixth Year. Ranking: 1.
There was a collective groan as students began to make their way back up into the dormitories. Ron elbowed Harry and grinned appreciatively at Hermione. Harry beamed, as well.
“You’ll hear all the stories you want tomorrow!” Hermione called after the crowd. “Even heroes sleep, you know!”
“Heroes, eh?” Ron said, smirking a bit as he sunk into the thick, plush, comfortable couch. He patted the seat next to his and Harry took the liberty of gingerly sitting down on it. Ron scowled at Harry, who didn’t notice, and Hermione sat on the floor, hugging her knees and looking up at them.
“So---”
“You’re okay,” Hermione interrupted Harry. “And that’s all that matters. Details in the mornings, and I mean that… Ron, I want a full report on what you could seek out from Godric’s Hollow, and Harry make sure that you write down neatly and thoroughly what you saw at----”
“We’re okay and that’s all that matters,” Ron boasted loudly. “How very kind of you, Hermione. So true, so true.”
Harry let out a hearty belly laugh and Hermione found herself flinching.
“Harry, how do you do it?” Hermione whispered, her voice wading into the warm crackling fire in the background. “Laugh and smile at a time like this.”
There was a comfortable pause as Ron settled back in his seat and Harry looked down at Hermione.
“I don’t know.” Harry shrugged and leaned back against the couch, placing his hands behind his neck to relax. He paused again before he spoke.
Harry was doing a lot of that lately. Pausing. Or maybe thinking.
“My whole life has been a chance, the next day was always dreaded and now that it’s not like that; I don’t even mind fighting. At least I know what I’m fighting for.”
“What are you fighting for?” Ron asked curiously, jabbing him.
“Us,” Harry said, cracking a grin.
“Hermione’s going to cry now,” Ron groaned.
“Shut up!” Hermione said, fighting back tears. She turned to look at Harry. “Harry, you’re brave and you’re wonderful and you know that once this War is over, you’ll finally get the life you deserve, right?”
“I don’t need that,” Harry said. “I’ve got you guys and it’s really not all that bad.”
“It’s really not,” Ron admitted. “I mean, we’re sort of unbeatable. This is just our year to finish things up, eh mate?”
Harry grinned back at Ron and Hermione bit her lip. Both the boys knew she was fighting to dish out a huge portion of reality to them, but they were grateful that she didn’t.
She really was not all about that. Pessimism or logic or anything like that. Deep down inside, she was all about the dreams.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Harry said as he reached into his pocket. Ron nodded and Hermione looked up at the two, confused.
In Harry’s gloved palm was a crumpled pink flower. It had flourishing petals, wrinkled from being in his pocket and a thick green stem.
“It survived the whole journey back here?” Hermione cried. “Oh! It’s so pretty, we have to add water to it now!”
“It was the only flower Ron and I saw today anywhere… we took it as a sign and thought we’d give it to you.” Harry cracked another grin.
“So you obviously know it’s his idea and not mine,” Ron said, rolling his eyes.
Hermione grinned at Ron. “Really, now?”
“Well, all I mentioned was that mum had a few nice vases at home!”
Hermione kept grinning at Ron as she gently plucked the flower off Harry’s palm and scrambled to find a place to hold it. She came back a few minutes later, the flower in an empty, cleaned out butterbeer bottle and placed it on the floor in between them.
And as the three sat closely together, knit warmly in their unbreakable circle, Hermione looked up at Ron, and then at Harry and then to the flower and then down at her knees that she was hugging close to her chest and she thought that they would be immortal.
And not one petal had fallen.
Memories like that were the most awful kind. The most golden, glorious kinds of nostalgic thoughts were the stuff that cynics were made of. Who didn’t enjoy an awful blast from the past where everything went awfully wrong and then to wake up from it all to relish in the fact that perhaps life back then wasn’t so great to yearn for after all?
This was the exact opposite. Hermione woke up feeling hollow and the back of her throat was dry. Her eyes were crusted with bad sleep and her hair felt sticky as random strands stuck to the side of her face.
She had not slept well.
But she was not upset or sad or felt like she was sitting at the edge of crying. She was numb and so familiar with this empty sort of swirling vortex in her that she simply shivered.
It was really, really cold.
Draco was nowhere around. Usually, when it was cold, it meant he was somewhere nearby. She looked over to see that Lavender or Parvati had cracked a window open; the scent of early Spring was blowing softly into the room.
Hermione walked over to shut the window and sat at her bed quietly for a few moments, waiting for Draco. She peered over at her desk to see the same flower that she had remembered in her dreams and turned away from it. The sight of it made her feel distorted.
Draco never came, and with the window closed… it was suddenly warm again.
* * *
Ron could not take it anymore. And when Ron Weasley had bottled enough in him to finally break the glass, he found that it was always in the stupidest possible way, using the stupidest possible words.
“I heard you’re going out with a Slytherin!”
Hermione looked up in surprise and Ron looked down back at her, aghast at himself more than anything for even stopping in front of her table and for opening his big, stupid mouth.
She was so angry. First Draco and now this.
“I also heard that you’re one of the worst friends in the world!” she shouted.
Ron looked taken aback and shocked, as if her reaction should have been of warmth or something. But then he found himself to be stumbling backward, blindly grasping for a proper way to react.
“So it’s true!” Ron declared. “Blaise Zabini! Hermione, you could get killed - did you know he---”
“Was on the other side, right? Exactly what side are you on right now? Do we even have sides right now?”
She froze.
There’s no black and white now and everything is just fucking grey, and I hate to break it to you… but we’re both grey!
Draco’s words rung in her tears and the footages of his voice in her ears clinched painfully, as if she had just elevated herself high into the clouds. Or maybe perhaps sunk so low that she was in hell.
That’s what Hogwarts felt like to her now, anyway.
“Of course we have sides!” Ron cried. “We’re always going to have sides! Which one are you even on?”
She slammed her book shut, alarming the three Second Years eating behind her as they turned around curiously, and tossed it carelessly into her book bag before getting up, not missing a moment’s worth of time as her eyes stayed leveled with his.
Ron’s eyes were not as lively as they had been before when she liked to laugh at his immature jokes and listen to his banters about Slytherin. They now looked worn and used way past the expiration date and she wondered if he saw any difference in her eyes.
Because she didn’t feel any different around him at all, she found that she still loved him.
But the only thing different now was that she was so tired of fighting any war, any battle, that the love wasn’t enough to make her stick around this time.
“Don’t you miss me?” Hermione whispered.
Ron stared at her, his mouth hung open and he couldn’t speak.
She didn’t even bother to shed tears; this moment wasn’t even worth that. She merely turned on her heal, and with weak knees, walked away.
Ron looked after her until she disappeared into a turn of the corridor, before sitting down, slumping his shoulders defeat. “I miss you,” he called out finally.
Ron Weasley had also believed that they would be immortal.
* * *
“Ten galleons says this fucker doesn’t skip,” Draco muttered as he gripped the rock tightly in his gloved palm before tossing it into the water.
It did skip though, and very nicely, as it lapped across the cold lake water. Draco’s eyes widened. This was the first time he was rewarded for anything in a long time, he realised. And Hermione wasn’t even around for that. Maybe she had been his bad luck charm after all.
To put it lightly.
…Bitch.
“Yes!” Draco roared as his second rock skipped as well. He felt such a brand new sense of relief rush through his veins that he jumped up into the air, and then found his boots slipping against the flat rocks below his feet as he promptly crashed, headfirst onto the rocky banks of the river.
How do you save someone you can’t even feel? He thought to himself right before his Wanderer’s body fell into a state of unconsciousness.
“Draco.”
His head felt light and as if it were floating freely, detached to his body as he looked up, he was sitting upright next to the lake still, but in front of him was a girl with glowing skin and shiny light blonde hair.
Sabrina.
And her blond hair was what did Draco in every time. Time and time again, she would never cease to remind him of his mother. And he loved his mother fiercely. He wondered if there was some sort of alteration done to every Wanderer’s Guide to represent the one person in their life that they had immortalised love for.
“Draco,” she said. “It’s been quite sometime?”
He shrugged. “She’s a difficult person, you know that.”
Sabrina smiled lightly. “I’m sensing that you’re feeling warmly for her.”
“It’s kind of hard not to,” Draco snapped, and then immediately felt remorse for being such a prat to her. “I mean, I’m with her all the time… something’s bound to thaw. Ice doesn’t mix with heat for so long without results.”
“You spent your whole life with your father and there was never any warmth.”
“That’s because we were both ice. Ice and ice don’t do shit, except maybe stick to the other and be frozen painfully together.”
And he wondered why he felt bad even for light profanity.
“No,” she said. “You were heat.”
“I don’t want to talk about my father,” Draco said hoarsely. “I just want to leave, please, haven’t I had enough of this hell on Earth here? I just… I want to get out of this place… this HELL! This place, this place where I’m so numb.”
“You will be able to,” she said softly. “When you’ve completed your task.”
“My task?” Draco spat out, standing up straight and looking at her fiercely, knees wobbling all the same in her presence. “Surely you’ve been watching us! Don’t you see what we’re doing? Wanting to meddle with time - illegal spells and whatnot!”
He couldn’t believe the mass of disgusting word vomit dribbling ferociously out of his mouth. He had ruined it, their whole plan.
Now he would never be able to live again.
But for some reason, he didn’t care. He was still so angry and found that his mood had not worsened. It was just exactly the same as it had been before. When he was thinking about Hermione.
“And she, she is fucking impossible to deal with!” he finished.
“Do you know what comes from meddling with time?” Sabrina asked softly.
“No clue, but I bet it’ll end up with me being in the shitter somehow,” Draco said bitterly.
Sabrina shook her head. “Meddling with time is only illegal in the living Wizarding world, Draco. Though I am sure it is not looked at so fondly in the Muggle world either.”
“Those fucks don’t even have the resources for that,” Draco said.
“You do not know that and I do not know that. But as I was saying, the concept of time and its alternation is only frowned upon in the living world for Wizards, here in the afterlife, Dark Magic and spells are merely household concepts that hold the common knowledge of being somewhat secretive and restricted in this world.”
“So what I’m doing isn’t illegal and you know about it.” Draco said blandly.
“What you’re doing isn’t illegal in our books, had we books.” She smiled. “And I do know about it. But--”
“Because there’s always a ‘but’” Draco muttered.
“It is also commonly known that time is a powerful tool in any world, and if you are prepared to tamper with it, there will be very harsh decisions for you to make in the end and very, very strong results that you may not have the capacity to handle.”
“I’ve experienced death,” Draco said, almost brightening at the thought of Sabrina not forbidding him to continue the spell. “I think I can handle anything after this.”
“Everyone will experience death,” Sabrina said softly. “It seems you are requesting the possibility to experience it again, and I do not understand that.”
“The spell is to turn back time,” Draco said. “That’s me requesting to experience life again, can’t you see that?”
“Life,” Sabrina said, “is not literal. I do not know that any spell, even the most powerful of the time meddling ones, can grant you that. You can find a beating heart and real blood and senses, Draco - yes, of course. But you cannot find life.”
“But it’s what I want!” Draco cried, feeling desperate. He hated this, he always felt desperate.
“What you should want is what Hermione Granger wants, because she is your mission, Draco.”
“Fuck that,” Draco spat. “I’m so sick of hearing that! What about me, what about me?!”
“Draco, good luck,” Sabrina whispered.
“Wait! I have more questions! Do I need to hit myself with a rock again for you to come back?”
And she was gone.
* * *
Just minutes after her painful confrontation with Ron, Hermione darted out of the Great Hall and straight into Blaise Zabini.
He had a certain way of moving, there was so much assurance and arrogance in his stride. Blaise was not about the smirks or the lazy drawls or the witty banter, but he always had this smoldering gaze set on everything, everything was pulled off in the most standoffish way as it possibly could have been and he walked with so much grace and ease that made girls want to change that.
Girls wanted Blaise Zabini to be flustered.
“Where are you going?” he asked her casually.
She made her way past him and made the effort to turn around. “My room,” she said softly.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She cocked her head to the side and studied him carefully. Had Draco ever asked her that? No, she didn’t remember him ever genuinely asking her that. It was more like Draco being force fed anti cough potion in order to get better; he always had some figurative eye roll attached to everything he asked her.
And that made her so angry.
But Blaise, right now, settled her nerves a bit.
“I think I’ll be okay,” she smiled lightly. “How do you feel about Hogsmeade?”
“A bit predictable, don’t you think?” he had a small, playing smile on his lips. She felt her heart skip a light beat and breathed quietly.
“That’s exactly what I need these days.”
“And you expect me to deliver that?” he raised an eyebrow a little too sardonically for her tastes, but she remembered that he had asked her out first.
And then she saw that he was still smiling at her. Another tiny flutter in her chest.
She smiled back. “I don’t really expect anything these days anymore.”
He nodded. “Hogsmeade it is, then… Hermione.”
Thump thump thump.
She couldn’t stop smiling on her way back to her room after that. It felt like Third Year when Ron told her he admired her for slapping Draco. It felt good. It felt like a normal, human emotion and it was close to happy.
It was only when she saw the truth coin on her desk, tales up, that the smile disappeared from her face.
She covered the coin with a book and proceeded to clean for the rest of the afternoon in silence. Cleaning relaxed her and it never disappointed in the end.
* * *
Draco snapped and found himself back on the floor, the position he was in right after he had slipped earlier. He rubbed his head, which normally would have been bumped and bruised and throbbing, but he felt nothing.
He just felt empty again.
Draco picked up another rock and tossed it into the lake.
This one sunk straight to the bottom with no noise.
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