QR / Chapter 17 - Nature's Law
Title: Quiet Revolution / Chapter 17 - Nature's Law
Author: street scribbles
Rating: PG 13
Summary: Several confrontations arise and an unexpected change in plans rattle both Hermione and Draco's world, forcing them to reevaluate what the highest power really is.
A/N: My beta is a miracle worker. You're the best, Allie!
The time it took to get out this chapter is shameful, and I don't know what I owe to the people who see the story title and hear a bell ringing, but it's a lot. Feedback is not necessary, but that's what makes it all the more wonderful. :)
Link:
RECAP: Hermione's date with Blaise goes poorly. At the end of the night, she finally realizes what she's feeling for Draco.
Chapter 17 - Nature’s Law
And it's okay for you to care . . .
Cause I'm not going anywhere
And while you wonder, "how's this gonna end?"
I only want it to begin
Ben Lee - "Begin"
Ron was staring.
Again.
Ron was always staring.
That’s all he ever did. When Hermione managed to peek out the tuft of reddish brown hair out of the after lunch crowd in the hallway, it was usually Ron, and he was always staring. And she remembered that one time, stepping out of the library in a rush to meet class time for Charms, she had run straight into Ron.
“Sorry!” she had said. It felt so normal. They locked eyes and she would have killed to know what Ron was thinking at that very moment.
She’s probably late to class and was probably studying for a test that wouldn’t appear on the syllabus until the next week, he’d thought. She was always worried about dumb things like that. And then his mood darkened. She did always worry about the wrong things.
About people who were already dead, for example.
Despite these thoughts, he said nothing and instead had stepped aside to let her pass. Hermione sighed loudly and ran past Ron, without looking back.
And today, Ron was still staring, with that strange sort of concentration that included everything but concentration, really. Class was at a dead standstill - it was that crucial moment in the last ten minutes of an exam that didn’t feel so crucial because you were just so tired of having to sit in a hard, wooden chair that bent the muscles in your thighs in an almost inhumane fashion, it seemed.
Hermione placed her index and middle finger over the dark indentation on her neck and felt red hotness creep up her neck. That mark was from Draco.
And now she knew why Ron was staring extra hard.
He was angry, she finally figured. Ron was always like that. Whether or not he actually still had romantic feelings for her was really beside the point, but the natural progression of their relationship since they were merely eleven had been that Ron would always, always have an insatiable big brother complex when with Hermione. He only had Ginny, and Hermione came at a natural to him, despite her not being his blood sister. This was the way he would always treat the girls in his life he loved, he would always want to protect them. Hermione remembered all the accounts in which she had stomped out of rooms and slammed doors because of how much he infuriated her with his overprotective brother act, only it now made her ache for him to treat her like that again.
Now, she felt like crying.
“Ron,” Hermione said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder in the jumbling crowd of students scrambling to place their tests on the stack on Professor Flitwick’s desk.
Ron whirled around and jerked his shoulder away so fast that her skin felt the friction of his scratchy wool sweater. His eyes had looked like that for awhile now - apathetic and cool and foreign. And she would have gladly learned to adapt to this new pair of eyes and learn to accept it as the current norm, she really would have - had she not remembered how much vibrant life they used to reflect.
The numbness was strangely still lingering in her palms and she bit her lower lip and charged after him.
“Just talk to me!” she yelled. And it was so loud that the crowd within the proximity knew to thin out.
And that was the thing about Hogwarts. The kids were petty and they were immature and they talked wrongly, spreading viscous rumors and rudely altering the news they heard through the massive, tangling grapevine. Quidditch bets were always made for one’s respective house and though it was never really formally stated, for some reason, the table to the very left of the Great Hall was designated Slytherin, the one next to it Hufflepuff, then Gryffindor and to the very right was Ravenclaw. And people were antagonized - Colin was picked on for being short and having a high pitched voice and Pansy was jeered at for having gained weight over the summer. Everyone knew how to play by the rough games of the rules on the cruel playground, and this wouldn’t change at all for awhile, despite them being in their Seventh Year.
But there would always be that faint hint of knowing and understanding with the students of Hogwarts. When the tragedy of Cedric Diggory quietly crept upon the whole school that year, there were no jabs made toward the Hufflepuffs. Crabbe and Goyle quietly let the Hufflepuff First Years pass first in the line to the Great Hall and almost the entire school had adorned on the edge of their cloak a golden pin in the shape of a snitch. ‘Remembering Cedric’ glittered with every blink.
Hermione remembered seeing Draco wear one, too. And it was funny how Draco made his way into her mind during the most inappropriate moments. Like now, right when the students were clearing their way for Hermione. They understood what this was for her and for him. And she would later acknowledge how respectful her classmates were that day for letting her pass through to reach Ron as easily as she could.
The only person who didn’t make it easy was Ron, who she managed to finally make eye contact with after they had reached the Gryffindor common room. It was empty.
“I have nothing to say to you,” he said lowly, finally turning around slowly to face her. Those same eyes in place.
“I do! Why can’t we just talk? Why can’t you just understand what this time means to me? How much I’ve been through? I know you’re going through a hard time, too, but Ron----”
“But I’m not coping with it like you are! By going out and sucking face with Blaise Zabini!” Ron belted and Hermione winced at the sudden increase in volume of his voice. Her face grew hot.
“What?”
Blaise had felt like so long ago.
“Forget it,” Ron said disgustedly and to Hermione’s surprise, Ron kept talking. “You want to understand me? You don’t ever talk to me. When you do, it’s to remind me of something stupid, like oh, don’t forget we have a Potions exam coming up. Or, that it’s cold today, and you hope I brought my warm coat from home. I’m really glad you know me well enough to think that these mindless things are what matter to me, Hermione!” His voice rose and Hermione felt a tremor blow a fuse in her throat.
“I--” Her voice cut in and out and sounded loopy and was heavy with static.
“Do you even care about me anymore?” Ron bellowed. “What am I to you? Do you think I see you as my older mentor, or something? As if I have half a brain and need to be encouraged to do homework or put my left sock on my left foot?”
“How can you ask if I even care about you anymore?” Hermione cried vehemently, eyes erupting with tears and slowly unveiling a paled out redness. “I’m the only one making an effort anymore!”
Ron looked at her. Hermione was so angry, she wanted to grab him by the arms and push him hard against the wall and beat into his chest until he admitted that he missed her, too. That he wanted her friendship again.
“Really?” Ron said quietly. “I’m sorry if I see it differently then. Maybe a turtleneck to help?”
“This isn’t about Blaise!” Hermione shouted after Ron as he made his way toward the boys’ dorm. She clenched her hands into balled up, tight little fists and planted them on her sides. “This is about us, Ron! I care about you so much. I don’t ever stop thinking about you. You don’t even know how miserable I am without you! I loved Harry too, you know! I loved you, too! I still love you, you’re my best friend!”
Ron whirled around. “You loved who I was with when Harry was around. You loved the idea of us three being happy and friends forever, maybe fading away into some colorful sunset. You loved me only because of who I was with Harry. Harry’s not here anymore, and I’m different now, I know that. But I’m always going to be this person, I’m always going to be Ron. I’m Ron with you and I’m Ron with Snape and I’m Ron with Percy. But you don’t see that, Hermione, you know what you see? You see the Ron who used to be your best friend and all you see is what you can do to bring him back. You can’t. Just like you can’t bring Harry back.”
Hermione ran her fingers over her neck and felt like it was shame branded on her hot, guilty scorching skin.
She looked at him expectantly and found him staring back. Things had grown eerily quiet, like the disturbing temporary peace that thickened in the calm before the storm. The skies were always the bluest then, and right now they looked extraordinarily blue - bright, vibrant and bursting with technicolor.
“You sometimes forget that I’m still here,” Ron whispered. “And you sometimes forget that I miss him, too.”
She looked at him through wet eyes and saw that his matched hers completely. They were mere feet apart but never had she felt so far from Ron.
“I sometimes forget who I am without him,” Hermione admitted, her smile watered into a sorrowed curve. She wanted so badly at this moment to touch him. She wanted to sink into his lanky arms and rest there for a second before they had to part - because she knew they would be parting very soon. All she wanted was to feel Ron once again. But despite the physical closeness of the moment, she knew that touch would be impossible beyond belief.
“Yeah, I know,” Ron said huskily, before turning. And she watched as he curled up the edge of his sweater in one fisted hand to wipe away his eyes, his back still turned to her. “Me too.”
“I still have the flower that you and he gave me. The one from the War.”
Ron froze from his standing spot on the steps and she hesitated but blurted out her next words.
“It’s dying.”
He was moving again, gangly shoulders, long legs and red hair making their ginger way up the stairs.
“Ron,” Hermione called after him, only making half an effort to jog closer.. “What am I supposed to do? What are you going to do?” She paused, inhaling in a trail of shaky, wavering breaths. “What are we supposed to do?”
They were so broken. And she didn’t know what it was - the dynamics of their relationship had always been boldly defined when Harry was alive, and now without Harry, they seemed to have faded into a dull, off color. Two distant trails of dust, swirling and thinning out, fighting to find each other in a crazy wind blizzard.
He paused and looked at her. “I guess we’ll just do it your way, we’ll wait until Harry comes back to us.”
The war was over and, despite the winning, Hermione wondered why all she managed to feel so far was defeat.
* * *
Step 3: This life is a constant storm. When a storm rumbles, it carries rain out onto this world. Rain forms rivers and rivers form oceans. Oceans are deep full of secrets that life’s storm bring about. Swim - discover a secret, and the last key to your mission will have been discovered, as well.
“I love how this spell gets vaguer as we progress, honestly,” Hermione drawled absently as she gently ran her finger against the dry wilting petal of Harry and Ron’s flower. Draco eyed the flower warily before turning eyes to her.
“Why did you bring that flower out here?”
“I don’t know. It’s important, I think. I mean . . . it has to be, it lasted this long.”
Draco bit his lower lip and contemplated whether or not he should completely change personalities just because of newly erupted feelings they had confessed to just the night before.
No, not a good idea.
“It’s really hideous, though.”
She shot a glare in his direction as she bent down toward the tiny rippling waves of the lake to scoop up some water. She let out an involuntary shudder as the ice cold pangs didn’t agree with her palm but she stood still as she let the thin trickles of water run down in between the wilting petals of the flower.
“I thought I almost died yesterday, you know,” Draco said quietly, as he bent down to sit gingerly on the banks of the lake, the dry, cool grains of sand hard and stubborn beneath their feet. Hermione looked up at the winter sky, the bright harsh light of day, without a trace of warmth igniting the air, beating down on her face. She tucked a strand of hair behind an ear and squinted over in his direction.
“Why do you think that?” she asked softly as she continued cupping water into her hands.
“I never told you this, but the reason why I’m really here is because I’m supposed to help you. And I didn’t care to help you. I only wanted to help myself.”
Hermione felt colder now, her feet were numbing in her thin soled leather shoes and she knew she should have worn two pairs of socks.
“But I figured I could kill two birds with one stone if I helped us both, maybe by making something happen that would make us both happy. Turning back time seemed to make so much sense. But then somewhere along the way I realized maybe you’d be moving on and find happiness without Potter. Like with Blaise.”
Hermione closed her eyes and continued dipping the dead flower in the water.
“I thought that was it,” Draco said hoarsely. “I thought my life was over when you were with Blaise.”
“Mmhm,” Hermione said absently. “But it wasn’t. Because you’re still here. What kept you alive, per say, do you think?”
Her heart was pounding and the quiet lapping of the water was so loud, it made her temples pound.
Draco didn’t answer.
The heavy emotional drainage of her encounter with Ron alongside Draco only telling one side of the story was beginning to infuse into one disgusting product of frustration and tiredness. Hermione gripped her flower and turned to Draco.
“Say it,” she said quietly. “I just want to hear you say it. I want to hear you say it all, for once. Draco, please!”
He kept staring at her.
“Calm down.”
“No! I can’t be calm! I just can’t!” Hermione’s voice was shrill. “Why don’t you just - oh my goodness!” She was yelling now. “Tell me everything you’ve wanted to say! Just say it! What was that kiss last night? Why did you return it? Why are we at this point in time where I only think about you and where you still refuse disclose everything you’re feeling? How hypocritical of you are to accuse me of hiding my true feelings!”
She was breathing heavily now, the cold air trapped at her throat before it allowed to be swallowed into her chest. The thick rhythms mixed with the chilly atmosphere made her heart hurt. Draco squinted at her, cocking his head to the side and then snapped it back into place, glaring silver eyes darted her way. She didn’t break the gaze, but she found she had to clutch onto her scarf tightly to help steady her breathing.
“What do you want me to say?” Draco snarled. “Did you want me to say that because of you, I’m still ‘alive’ and because of you, I feel like ‘everything’s going to be okay?’ Is that what you want to hear?”
“If that’s the truth!”
“You know what the truth is?” Draco asked evenly.
Her heart was pounding and she fought hard to blanket the intensity of the harsh beats with her throat, swallowing back her tears and letting out a short, violent sigh.
The sigh didn’t help anything.
“What’s the truth!” she yelled, her voice cutting through the thinly shredded icy winter air. The trees ruffled around her and she could hear the sounds of leaves shuddering in the background.
“Yes! It’s true! Okay? Does that just make your heart swell with love? To know that you’re the reason I’m alive? You know what else, Hermione? It’s not a good thing! You’re not a good thing in my life right now. Because I don’t fucking have a life!”
She opened her mouth, paused, closed it, and then opened it again. “I know . . . but--”
“But what?” he demanded.
“Why are you so angry all of a sudden?” she spat. “Why are we always like this?” she whispered, realizing her foreseen tears had suddenly gone dry. She felt weary and cold. She was always feeling weary, she realized.
“We need to hurry up with the spell,” Draco said tiredly. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be here for much longer.”
“No,” Hermione said, frustrated. Her teeth were chattering. “This can’t be it, Draco; this can’t be all that you’ve been wanting to tell me. What about what happened between us, last night? It was real. It was so real. Thinking about it still makes my heart shake. It still makes my chest hurt and it makes me want to be with you more than ever. Don’t you know how much that scares me?”
“You’ve no idea,” Draco snapped. “You never have. You just keep asking me over and over since I’ve been here. What am I thinking? What do I feel? Why am I here? How did I die? Why am I here with you? You’ve always been questions, Hermione, and when you seek out to find answers to just those questions, it makes you an ugly person, did you know that? It makes me not care for you even more so than I did before. You never seem to care about the real things.”
Draco was beginning to sound just like Ron.
“Tell me what the real things are, then, Draco, just tell me one real thing that I should be caring about. Is it the stupid spell? That’s what I should be focusing on, right? Don’t you realize that what’s happened to us has progressed to something so much more than just the stupid spell!”
He got up and she pounced up as just as quickly as he did as their eyes locked onto each other’s.
“Nothing can happen between us past this point,” Draco growled lowly.
“It’s a little too late for that,” Hermione said, her voice growing louder, laced with frustration and the choking sound of persistence. “Oh, my goodness! You hypocritical bastard! You kissed me first that one time, you demanded that I feel things for you that other time and you knew that you felt something when we kissed last night! You don’t just do these things, Draco! You don’t just feel something like this and avoid it!”
“I can now and I will! Do you know what kissing you that first time felt like?”
She stayed quiet.
“It felt like fire!” Draco yelled. “Hot, painful ripples of heat - fire! I’m not supposed to be feeling that! Look it up in your fucking book, Hermione! Wanderers aren’t supposed to be feeling anything! Do you know how dangerous this magic we’re toying with is? You have no idea! We can’t be feeling these things anymore. It is about the spell. And don’t you try to prove me wrong on that. Don’t tell me that Potter doesn’t mean anything to you.”
“This isn’t even about Harry anymore,” Hermione said softly. “This is about us. Doesn’t it mean something if even you can feel heat as a Wanderer? Maybe . . . maybe you’re dealing with emotions that are stronger than magic, even.”
“There’s nothing stronger than magic,” Draco said lowly.
She opened her mouth in shock and then clamped it shut.
“Say whatever you want to say,” Draco said coolly. “Magic is the highest form of power. And Wizards control it all.”
“Prove it,” Hermione said, her voice raspy, the harsh winter air whipping her cheek.
“I don’t need to prove it. Proof is in nature itself. Just look around you, Granger. This should be especially easy for you to understand. Take anything.”
“Like what?” Hermione demanded.
“Mountain lions?” Draco asked.
“Mountain lions?”
“Yes. Mountain lions. They can take a Muggle and tear and claw him apart.”
She looked at him skeptically. “How astounding of you to note that,” she remarked dryly.
“Or take the venom from a poisonous flower. A small plant of a scope that meaningless as a dumb, yellow flower. If an idiot Muggle goes near as to lay his finger on that plant and just rub his eyes after, he can go blind. Can a wizard heal the cuts from a mountain lion? Yes. In fact, we possess the magical skills to avoid being killed by one all together. And healing the toxins from the venom of a poisonous flower? Something Snape taught us in Potions when we were fucking Second Years, in case you’ve failed to recall.”
He looked at her with so much certainty. She didn’t know whether to slap him or hex him. But then she realized she’d do neither. Because neither would affect him, anyhow. This feeling wasn’t new, however, it felt like she was talking to Draco Malfoy at fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve . . .
It felt like talking to the same Draco Malfoy she had gone to school with. The only thing it didn’t feel like was talking to the Draco Malfoy she had kissed.
“Mountain lions and venom are your theory on why Muggles are a lower species from the Wizards?” Hermione demanded angrily. “Can you honestly tell me that that’s what’s separating us right now? Our blood? Our race and our magic?”
“It’s not just mountain lions and venom,” Draco said. “It’s nature. Purebloods rest with a higher power according to nature’s law. And it disgusts me that Muggleborns can’t seem to grasp such a simple concept as that.”
“You disgust me,” Hermione said quietly. “And you have absolutely no idea what nature’s law really is.”
“What?” Draco demanded, as he immediately shot up and landed on his feet. He grabbed her arm and she froze. Hermione looked down at his fingers wrapped around her thick coat arm and she sighed.
“I’m so tired, I can’t deal with this right now, Draco. I’m tired of admitting I’m wrong, especially because in this case, I’m not the one who’s wrong. Please take your hand off.”
He looked at her and bit his lower lip. She didn’t give him a chance to talk as she started walking along the bank of the lake. Draco stood there, watching her.
“Agh!” he snarled in frustration. It was bad enough to despise her before, but now that he actually had feelings for this girl that didn’t involve any sort of disapproval, this staying away part was even more difficult, given that his stubbornness was still very much intact.
He stood there for a good five minutes before he decided to follow her.
* * *
Her shoes weighed her down heavily as Hermione trudged through the forest, wet leaves and thick dirt and sloppy, leftover grass all around her. She paused for a second to look up at the slices of white sunlight escaping through the wide, gaping spaces between the tree branches and felt her eyes sting at the contact with the brightness.
She looked down at the flower.
“I don’t understand a lot of things anymore,” she said to it. “But I always thought you would be something I’d be able to rely on.”
It was really kind of silly, but the human species learned dependency based on familiarity and comfort. A child’s teddy bear. A favorite sweater. A lucky sports cap. A worn pair of shoes that your feet step into every morning for years and years. Take whatever it may be - take it away, and a new lump forms in your throat.
That lump takes a while to go away. Meanwhile, Hermione was still freezing.
Her heart still felt heavy as she bundled up her scarf tightly. For the first time in a long time, she was alone. Truly alone. Not because Harry was dead. Not because Ron felt like a stranger. But because Draco wasn’t at her side to criticize her motives or her feelings. It felt lonely, very lonely. It was this strange sort of stillness, the kind that pressed itself so tightly against her neck that she felt it was choking her.
She loosened her burgundy tie and scratched her neck a bit where the wool had pressed up against it. An involuntary shudder wavered at her throat and escaped her mouth upon feeling the harsh air make contact with her neck.
Nobody deserved to be this alone, she thought, as she bundled up again.
A few more minutes of traveling lead her to an open space occupied by a small pond. She found that a bright smile had erupted upon her face and some temporary relief graced her thoughts as she sat down gingerly by the clear water and took her flower out of her bag.
It still looked as dead as ever.
“Hermione!”
“Oh my gosh!” Hermione’s heart nearly skipped a beat as she looked up and saw a startled looking Seamus Finnegan. “Seamus! What are you doing here?”
“Uh, I’m here with Lavender.” Seamus pointed at another spot nearby where Hermione’s roommate had suddenly emerged from behind a tree.
“Oh, hello,” Hermione said absently, scooping up some water.
“What are you doing here, Hermione?” Lavender asked curiously as she made her way toward Seamus. He took her hand and they both looked at Hermione. Lavender noticed the flower in Hermione’s hand.
Hermione chose to ignore the marks on Lavender’s neck. Seamus looked rather proud.
“Trying to find peace,” Hermione said, not really intending on sounding so rude.
“Well,” Lavender said loudly. “We did come here first, Hermione, so if you’re impl---”
“I know, Lavender,” Hermione said turning her head upward and shielding the sun away from her eyes with her hand. “This forest should be big enough for three people, right? I didn’t mean anything by what I said.”
“What are you doing, seriously?” Seamus asked, chuckling a bit. “You know that flower’s dead, right?”
“I’ve already told her,” Lavender said knowingly.
Hermione glared down at the flower and turned to them. “I wish everyone would stop saying that,” she said quietly.
“Oh, Hermione, please. Not again,” Lavender huffed. She rolled her eyes and whispered something into Seamus’ ear. He nodded and shook his head.
“Hermione, listen, we’ll go and give you your, uh, peace. But seriously, you’ve got us all worried. Maybe you should start talking to Ron, again. You seemed to have really messed the guy up.”
“What? I messed Ron up? You’re sorely mistaken,” Hermione said.
“I’m sorely not,” Seamus said. “Listen, I might as well be the one to tell you this, but the whole school thinks you’re fucking mad, no joke. Talking to yourself and disappearing off to places. Missing classes. I mean, come on. Look at what you’re doing right now . . .”
“Seamus.” Hermione clenched her teeth. “Please, shut up,”
“Or she might cry,” Lavender whispered not so quietly. “She’s been doing a lot of that lately, you know.”
Hermione fumed. She looked up at two people whom she used to call her friends.
“Aw, come on, Hermione knows I’m just trying to help. But seriously, watering a dead flower? Don’t you know that’s stupid?”
“What?” Hermione asked quietly. “Say that again.”
“I said the flower’s dead, you can’t bring the dead back to life, so you should just stop already. It’s just a stupid flower.”
To both Hermione, Lavender and Seamus’ surprise, Seamus promptly groaned loudly and fell to the ground, his head snapping to the side.
“Who the hell did that!” Seamus cried out painfully, wincing.
Hermione stared at Seamus and then down at her flower.
Draco had shown up.
“Oh my gosh!” Lavender shrieked as Draco effortlessly tripped her. He leaned against the tree and studied the fingernails of his right hand as Lavender helped Seamus up and the two of them fled.
“Damn,” Draco said when they were finally gone. “I accidentally hit the tree after I knocked a good one in that fucker Finnegan’s face.”
Hermione wasn’t looking at Draco; she was concentrating on the flower and noticed that beneath the first layer of petals, there was a thin layer of fresh pink ones. She looked down and saw that her hands were shaking.
“I don’t know why what Seamus said had so much effect on me,” Hermione said softly, looking down at the flower still.
“Forget him,” Draco said.
“It really hurt,” Hermione said. “I don’t really know why. Maybe because he was right? Maybe because Harry actually won’t come back?” She was talking to her own reflection in the pond.
“No,” Draco said sternly as he knelt down beside her, feeling his knees creak a little as his stiff bones bent.. “We’re going to bring Potter back. The magic will.”
“Magic isn’t supposed to allow death to be reversed, didn’t you know?” Hermione smiled a little smile. She swept the hair out of her eyes and turned to Draco, who was still knelt beside her.
She felt her ankles begin to tire from the weight, a little. But she ignored the stress and closed her eyes.
“Here,” Draco said roughly. “Let me try,” he said as she handed him the flower. He studied it carefully for a few seconds before he scooped some drops amongst the petal before handing it back to her.
“Don’t be scared,” Hermione said quietly.
“Why should I be scared?”
“I don’t know, because I am, too?”
“Great, so we’re two scared people who are working on this dangerous, ancient spell to turn back time and bring back the dead. This should turn out great.”
She looked over at him. “We have more in common than we think, you know? And it makes me so sad to think that you haven’t realized this, yet.”
“Realized what? That mountain lions and venom aren’t what separate us? That it’s not blood anymore?”
She didn’t respond.
“I’m not as ignorant as you think.”
“I never said you were.”
“You were thinking it. And it may have been idiotic of me to throw out that mountain lion analogy, but it’s what I’ve been taught. It’s what my father used to tell me, and I still do believe in it. There’s a difference between Purebloods and the Mud-Muggleborn, just like there’s a difference between the Chinese and the Japanese, the English and the Scottish.”
“Right . . .” Hermione didn’t know what to say.
“But I haven’t been around the world. And I especially haven’t seen the Muggle world. You know where I’ve been though? The other side. I’ve died. And there’s a new reason for me to be prejudice. It’s called life. You’re a human and I’m not, and right now, that still makes us very, very different.”
She looked down shamefully and her brows knit together tightly as she saw his hand.
He was bleeding.
His hand was cut from hitting Seamus and then landing roughly against the tree to catch his fall. It was there, his hand, and it was bleeding. Oozing with fresh, warm, sticky, red, crimson blood. The faint smell of iron was apparent in the air between them. But as Hermione moved closer to Draco, all she could smell, taste - all she could feel was his heavy breathing.
And the rapid beats her heart was producing.
“Draco.”
“So do you see why we can’t . . . continue what we’re doing?” Draco asked. “We’re not separated by blood anymore; we’re separated by life and death. And, right now, I’ll give that to you - that’s the only difference I really do care about.”
Draco Malfoy, Hermione noticed, certainly had the most roundabout way of apologizing in anyone she had met, yet.
She shook her head and took his hand in hers, not wanting to believe anything he was saying. All she could believe was what she was feeling, and that was his hand. And the flower in her other one, she would never let go of. She wasn’t sure if she was going to be letting go of either things in both her hands, actually.
“Nature’s law,” Hermione said delicately. “Has no rule over me and you. You’re not supposed to bleed. Magic forbids Wanderers to bleed. I’m not a Muggleborn and you’re not a Pureblood, we’re more than that, now. We’ve revolutionized.”
“Into something inexplicable. I know you don’t like when there are no answers.”
“I don’t know what this is, Draco, but I can’t stay away now. I’ve gotten too involved. So, don’t push me away.”
Draco looked down at his hands and smeared off the bit of blood that was leaking from his cut.
She placed her hand on top of it and he felt the comfortable human warmth of blood and muscle and bones wrapped up in soft, soothing skin and he closed his eyes, letting her hand stay on top of his for a second. His hand didn’t hurt so much from hitting Seamus anymore.
“I don’t really want to, you know,” he said, and his voice was scratchy and hoarse.
She closed her eyes and felt the breeze warming up slightly for the afternoon.
A blanket of quiet and soft comfort covered the moment, and just as the calmness that streams gently along the banks of a river are what seem eternal, nothing ever really is. And just like the storm brews that river into something else and is strong enough to knock a broken tree into it, erupting in violent splashes and noise, it was an erupted shriek that pierced the skies from Hermione’s throat that interrupted the nature, yet again. A flying fist flew in between them and Draco cried out as Hermione was pulled out of his arms.
Draco and his assailant tumbled around on the ground, and angry eyes that tore in Hermione’s direction momentarily before Draco was hit again. Draco ducked and hit him back and they fought vehemently.
Her lungs stopped functioning and her heart stopped for a split second in her chest, the last bit of air struggling to stay in her body as she felt her breath hitch. How come Draco is visible to others? Was the only thing that ran through her head before the circulation came back and she started screaming.
“Stop it! Please.”
Her blood ran cold as she got a better look.
The attacker was Ron.
<< PREVIOUS | NEXT >>
Author: street scribbles
Rating: PG 13
Summary: Several confrontations arise and an unexpected change in plans rattle both Hermione and Draco's world, forcing them to reevaluate what the highest power really is.
A/N: My beta is a miracle worker. You're the best, Allie!
The time it took to get out this chapter is shameful, and I don't know what I owe to the people who see the story title and hear a bell ringing, but it's a lot. Feedback is not necessary, but that's what makes it all the more wonderful. :)
Link:
RECAP: Hermione's date with Blaise goes poorly. At the end of the night, she finally realizes what she's feeling for Draco.
Chapter 17 - Nature’s Law
And it's okay for you to care . . .
Cause I'm not going anywhere
And while you wonder, "how's this gonna end?"
I only want it to begin
Ben Lee - "Begin"
Ron was staring.
Again.
Ron was always staring.
That’s all he ever did. When Hermione managed to peek out the tuft of reddish brown hair out of the after lunch crowd in the hallway, it was usually Ron, and he was always staring. And she remembered that one time, stepping out of the library in a rush to meet class time for Charms, she had run straight into Ron.
“Sorry!” she had said. It felt so normal. They locked eyes and she would have killed to know what Ron was thinking at that very moment.
She’s probably late to class and was probably studying for a test that wouldn’t appear on the syllabus until the next week, he’d thought. She was always worried about dumb things like that. And then his mood darkened. She did always worry about the wrong things.
About people who were already dead, for example.
Despite these thoughts, he said nothing and instead had stepped aside to let her pass. Hermione sighed loudly and ran past Ron, without looking back.
And today, Ron was still staring, with that strange sort of concentration that included everything but concentration, really. Class was at a dead standstill - it was that crucial moment in the last ten minutes of an exam that didn’t feel so crucial because you were just so tired of having to sit in a hard, wooden chair that bent the muscles in your thighs in an almost inhumane fashion, it seemed.
Hermione placed her index and middle finger over the dark indentation on her neck and felt red hotness creep up her neck. That mark was from Draco.
And now she knew why Ron was staring extra hard.
He was angry, she finally figured. Ron was always like that. Whether or not he actually still had romantic feelings for her was really beside the point, but the natural progression of their relationship since they were merely eleven had been that Ron would always, always have an insatiable big brother complex when with Hermione. He only had Ginny, and Hermione came at a natural to him, despite her not being his blood sister. This was the way he would always treat the girls in his life he loved, he would always want to protect them. Hermione remembered all the accounts in which she had stomped out of rooms and slammed doors because of how much he infuriated her with his overprotective brother act, only it now made her ache for him to treat her like that again.
Now, she felt like crying.
“Ron,” Hermione said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder in the jumbling crowd of students scrambling to place their tests on the stack on Professor Flitwick’s desk.
Ron whirled around and jerked his shoulder away so fast that her skin felt the friction of his scratchy wool sweater. His eyes had looked like that for awhile now - apathetic and cool and foreign. And she would have gladly learned to adapt to this new pair of eyes and learn to accept it as the current norm, she really would have - had she not remembered how much vibrant life they used to reflect.
The numbness was strangely still lingering in her palms and she bit her lower lip and charged after him.
“Just talk to me!” she yelled. And it was so loud that the crowd within the proximity knew to thin out.
And that was the thing about Hogwarts. The kids were petty and they were immature and they talked wrongly, spreading viscous rumors and rudely altering the news they heard through the massive, tangling grapevine. Quidditch bets were always made for one’s respective house and though it was never really formally stated, for some reason, the table to the very left of the Great Hall was designated Slytherin, the one next to it Hufflepuff, then Gryffindor and to the very right was Ravenclaw. And people were antagonized - Colin was picked on for being short and having a high pitched voice and Pansy was jeered at for having gained weight over the summer. Everyone knew how to play by the rough games of the rules on the cruel playground, and this wouldn’t change at all for awhile, despite them being in their Seventh Year.
But there would always be that faint hint of knowing and understanding with the students of Hogwarts. When the tragedy of Cedric Diggory quietly crept upon the whole school that year, there were no jabs made toward the Hufflepuffs. Crabbe and Goyle quietly let the Hufflepuff First Years pass first in the line to the Great Hall and almost the entire school had adorned on the edge of their cloak a golden pin in the shape of a snitch. ‘Remembering Cedric’ glittered with every blink.
Hermione remembered seeing Draco wear one, too. And it was funny how Draco made his way into her mind during the most inappropriate moments. Like now, right when the students were clearing their way for Hermione. They understood what this was for her and for him. And she would later acknowledge how respectful her classmates were that day for letting her pass through to reach Ron as easily as she could.
The only person who didn’t make it easy was Ron, who she managed to finally make eye contact with after they had reached the Gryffindor common room. It was empty.
“I have nothing to say to you,” he said lowly, finally turning around slowly to face her. Those same eyes in place.
“I do! Why can’t we just talk? Why can’t you just understand what this time means to me? How much I’ve been through? I know you’re going through a hard time, too, but Ron----”
“But I’m not coping with it like you are! By going out and sucking face with Blaise Zabini!” Ron belted and Hermione winced at the sudden increase in volume of his voice. Her face grew hot.
“What?”
Blaise had felt like so long ago.
“Forget it,” Ron said disgustedly and to Hermione’s surprise, Ron kept talking. “You want to understand me? You don’t ever talk to me. When you do, it’s to remind me of something stupid, like oh, don’t forget we have a Potions exam coming up. Or, that it’s cold today, and you hope I brought my warm coat from home. I’m really glad you know me well enough to think that these mindless things are what matter to me, Hermione!” His voice rose and Hermione felt a tremor blow a fuse in her throat.
“I--” Her voice cut in and out and sounded loopy and was heavy with static.
“Do you even care about me anymore?” Ron bellowed. “What am I to you? Do you think I see you as my older mentor, or something? As if I have half a brain and need to be encouraged to do homework or put my left sock on my left foot?”
“How can you ask if I even care about you anymore?” Hermione cried vehemently, eyes erupting with tears and slowly unveiling a paled out redness. “I’m the only one making an effort anymore!”
Ron looked at her. Hermione was so angry, she wanted to grab him by the arms and push him hard against the wall and beat into his chest until he admitted that he missed her, too. That he wanted her friendship again.
“Really?” Ron said quietly. “I’m sorry if I see it differently then. Maybe a turtleneck to help?”
“This isn’t about Blaise!” Hermione shouted after Ron as he made his way toward the boys’ dorm. She clenched her hands into balled up, tight little fists and planted them on her sides. “This is about us, Ron! I care about you so much. I don’t ever stop thinking about you. You don’t even know how miserable I am without you! I loved Harry too, you know! I loved you, too! I still love you, you’re my best friend!”
Ron whirled around. “You loved who I was with when Harry was around. You loved the idea of us three being happy and friends forever, maybe fading away into some colorful sunset. You loved me only because of who I was with Harry. Harry’s not here anymore, and I’m different now, I know that. But I’m always going to be this person, I’m always going to be Ron. I’m Ron with you and I’m Ron with Snape and I’m Ron with Percy. But you don’t see that, Hermione, you know what you see? You see the Ron who used to be your best friend and all you see is what you can do to bring him back. You can’t. Just like you can’t bring Harry back.”
Hermione ran her fingers over her neck and felt like it was shame branded on her hot, guilty scorching skin.
She looked at him expectantly and found him staring back. Things had grown eerily quiet, like the disturbing temporary peace that thickened in the calm before the storm. The skies were always the bluest then, and right now they looked extraordinarily blue - bright, vibrant and bursting with technicolor.
“You sometimes forget that I’m still here,” Ron whispered. “And you sometimes forget that I miss him, too.”
She looked at him through wet eyes and saw that his matched hers completely. They were mere feet apart but never had she felt so far from Ron.
“I sometimes forget who I am without him,” Hermione admitted, her smile watered into a sorrowed curve. She wanted so badly at this moment to touch him. She wanted to sink into his lanky arms and rest there for a second before they had to part - because she knew they would be parting very soon. All she wanted was to feel Ron once again. But despite the physical closeness of the moment, she knew that touch would be impossible beyond belief.
“Yeah, I know,” Ron said huskily, before turning. And she watched as he curled up the edge of his sweater in one fisted hand to wipe away his eyes, his back still turned to her. “Me too.”
“I still have the flower that you and he gave me. The one from the War.”
Ron froze from his standing spot on the steps and she hesitated but blurted out her next words.
“It’s dying.”
He was moving again, gangly shoulders, long legs and red hair making their ginger way up the stairs.
“Ron,” Hermione called after him, only making half an effort to jog closer.. “What am I supposed to do? What are you going to do?” She paused, inhaling in a trail of shaky, wavering breaths. “What are we supposed to do?”
They were so broken. And she didn’t know what it was - the dynamics of their relationship had always been boldly defined when Harry was alive, and now without Harry, they seemed to have faded into a dull, off color. Two distant trails of dust, swirling and thinning out, fighting to find each other in a crazy wind blizzard.
He paused and looked at her. “I guess we’ll just do it your way, we’ll wait until Harry comes back to us.”
The war was over and, despite the winning, Hermione wondered why all she managed to feel so far was defeat.
* * *
Step 3: This life is a constant storm. When a storm rumbles, it carries rain out onto this world. Rain forms rivers and rivers form oceans. Oceans are deep full of secrets that life’s storm bring about. Swim - discover a secret, and the last key to your mission will have been discovered, as well.
“I love how this spell gets vaguer as we progress, honestly,” Hermione drawled absently as she gently ran her finger against the dry wilting petal of Harry and Ron’s flower. Draco eyed the flower warily before turning eyes to her.
“Why did you bring that flower out here?”
“I don’t know. It’s important, I think. I mean . . . it has to be, it lasted this long.”
Draco bit his lower lip and contemplated whether or not he should completely change personalities just because of newly erupted feelings they had confessed to just the night before.
No, not a good idea.
“It’s really hideous, though.”
She shot a glare in his direction as she bent down toward the tiny rippling waves of the lake to scoop up some water. She let out an involuntary shudder as the ice cold pangs didn’t agree with her palm but she stood still as she let the thin trickles of water run down in between the wilting petals of the flower.
“I thought I almost died yesterday, you know,” Draco said quietly, as he bent down to sit gingerly on the banks of the lake, the dry, cool grains of sand hard and stubborn beneath their feet. Hermione looked up at the winter sky, the bright harsh light of day, without a trace of warmth igniting the air, beating down on her face. She tucked a strand of hair behind an ear and squinted over in his direction.
“Why do you think that?” she asked softly as she continued cupping water into her hands.
“I never told you this, but the reason why I’m really here is because I’m supposed to help you. And I didn’t care to help you. I only wanted to help myself.”
Hermione felt colder now, her feet were numbing in her thin soled leather shoes and she knew she should have worn two pairs of socks.
“But I figured I could kill two birds with one stone if I helped us both, maybe by making something happen that would make us both happy. Turning back time seemed to make so much sense. But then somewhere along the way I realized maybe you’d be moving on and find happiness without Potter. Like with Blaise.”
Hermione closed her eyes and continued dipping the dead flower in the water.
“I thought that was it,” Draco said hoarsely. “I thought my life was over when you were with Blaise.”
“Mmhm,” Hermione said absently. “But it wasn’t. Because you’re still here. What kept you alive, per say, do you think?”
Her heart was pounding and the quiet lapping of the water was so loud, it made her temples pound.
Draco didn’t answer.
The heavy emotional drainage of her encounter with Ron alongside Draco only telling one side of the story was beginning to infuse into one disgusting product of frustration and tiredness. Hermione gripped her flower and turned to Draco.
“Say it,” she said quietly. “I just want to hear you say it. I want to hear you say it all, for once. Draco, please!”
He kept staring at her.
“Calm down.”
“No! I can’t be calm! I just can’t!” Hermione’s voice was shrill. “Why don’t you just - oh my goodness!” She was yelling now. “Tell me everything you’ve wanted to say! Just say it! What was that kiss last night? Why did you return it? Why are we at this point in time where I only think about you and where you still refuse disclose everything you’re feeling? How hypocritical of you are to accuse me of hiding my true feelings!”
She was breathing heavily now, the cold air trapped at her throat before it allowed to be swallowed into her chest. The thick rhythms mixed with the chilly atmosphere made her heart hurt. Draco squinted at her, cocking his head to the side and then snapped it back into place, glaring silver eyes darted her way. She didn’t break the gaze, but she found she had to clutch onto her scarf tightly to help steady her breathing.
“What do you want me to say?” Draco snarled. “Did you want me to say that because of you, I’m still ‘alive’ and because of you, I feel like ‘everything’s going to be okay?’ Is that what you want to hear?”
“If that’s the truth!”
“You know what the truth is?” Draco asked evenly.
Her heart was pounding and she fought hard to blanket the intensity of the harsh beats with her throat, swallowing back her tears and letting out a short, violent sigh.
The sigh didn’t help anything.
“What’s the truth!” she yelled, her voice cutting through the thinly shredded icy winter air. The trees ruffled around her and she could hear the sounds of leaves shuddering in the background.
“Yes! It’s true! Okay? Does that just make your heart swell with love? To know that you’re the reason I’m alive? You know what else, Hermione? It’s not a good thing! You’re not a good thing in my life right now. Because I don’t fucking have a life!”
She opened her mouth, paused, closed it, and then opened it again. “I know . . . but--”
“But what?” he demanded.
“Why are you so angry all of a sudden?” she spat. “Why are we always like this?” she whispered, realizing her foreseen tears had suddenly gone dry. She felt weary and cold. She was always feeling weary, she realized.
“We need to hurry up with the spell,” Draco said tiredly. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be here for much longer.”
“No,” Hermione said, frustrated. Her teeth were chattering. “This can’t be it, Draco; this can’t be all that you’ve been wanting to tell me. What about what happened between us, last night? It was real. It was so real. Thinking about it still makes my heart shake. It still makes my chest hurt and it makes me want to be with you more than ever. Don’t you know how much that scares me?”
“You’ve no idea,” Draco snapped. “You never have. You just keep asking me over and over since I’ve been here. What am I thinking? What do I feel? Why am I here? How did I die? Why am I here with you? You’ve always been questions, Hermione, and when you seek out to find answers to just those questions, it makes you an ugly person, did you know that? It makes me not care for you even more so than I did before. You never seem to care about the real things.”
Draco was beginning to sound just like Ron.
“Tell me what the real things are, then, Draco, just tell me one real thing that I should be caring about. Is it the stupid spell? That’s what I should be focusing on, right? Don’t you realize that what’s happened to us has progressed to something so much more than just the stupid spell!”
He got up and she pounced up as just as quickly as he did as their eyes locked onto each other’s.
“Nothing can happen between us past this point,” Draco growled lowly.
“It’s a little too late for that,” Hermione said, her voice growing louder, laced with frustration and the choking sound of persistence. “Oh, my goodness! You hypocritical bastard! You kissed me first that one time, you demanded that I feel things for you that other time and you knew that you felt something when we kissed last night! You don’t just do these things, Draco! You don’t just feel something like this and avoid it!”
“I can now and I will! Do you know what kissing you that first time felt like?”
She stayed quiet.
“It felt like fire!” Draco yelled. “Hot, painful ripples of heat - fire! I’m not supposed to be feeling that! Look it up in your fucking book, Hermione! Wanderers aren’t supposed to be feeling anything! Do you know how dangerous this magic we’re toying with is? You have no idea! We can’t be feeling these things anymore. It is about the spell. And don’t you try to prove me wrong on that. Don’t tell me that Potter doesn’t mean anything to you.”
“This isn’t even about Harry anymore,” Hermione said softly. “This is about us. Doesn’t it mean something if even you can feel heat as a Wanderer? Maybe . . . maybe you’re dealing with emotions that are stronger than magic, even.”
“There’s nothing stronger than magic,” Draco said lowly.
She opened her mouth in shock and then clamped it shut.
“Say whatever you want to say,” Draco said coolly. “Magic is the highest form of power. And Wizards control it all.”
“Prove it,” Hermione said, her voice raspy, the harsh winter air whipping her cheek.
“I don’t need to prove it. Proof is in nature itself. Just look around you, Granger. This should be especially easy for you to understand. Take anything.”
“Like what?” Hermione demanded.
“Mountain lions?” Draco asked.
“Mountain lions?”
“Yes. Mountain lions. They can take a Muggle and tear and claw him apart.”
She looked at him skeptically. “How astounding of you to note that,” she remarked dryly.
“Or take the venom from a poisonous flower. A small plant of a scope that meaningless as a dumb, yellow flower. If an idiot Muggle goes near as to lay his finger on that plant and just rub his eyes after, he can go blind. Can a wizard heal the cuts from a mountain lion? Yes. In fact, we possess the magical skills to avoid being killed by one all together. And healing the toxins from the venom of a poisonous flower? Something Snape taught us in Potions when we were fucking Second Years, in case you’ve failed to recall.”
He looked at her with so much certainty. She didn’t know whether to slap him or hex him. But then she realized she’d do neither. Because neither would affect him, anyhow. This feeling wasn’t new, however, it felt like she was talking to Draco Malfoy at fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve . . .
It felt like talking to the same Draco Malfoy she had gone to school with. The only thing it didn’t feel like was talking to the Draco Malfoy she had kissed.
“Mountain lions and venom are your theory on why Muggles are a lower species from the Wizards?” Hermione demanded angrily. “Can you honestly tell me that that’s what’s separating us right now? Our blood? Our race and our magic?”
“It’s not just mountain lions and venom,” Draco said. “It’s nature. Purebloods rest with a higher power according to nature’s law. And it disgusts me that Muggleborns can’t seem to grasp such a simple concept as that.”
“You disgust me,” Hermione said quietly. “And you have absolutely no idea what nature’s law really is.”
“What?” Draco demanded, as he immediately shot up and landed on his feet. He grabbed her arm and she froze. Hermione looked down at his fingers wrapped around her thick coat arm and she sighed.
“I’m so tired, I can’t deal with this right now, Draco. I’m tired of admitting I’m wrong, especially because in this case, I’m not the one who’s wrong. Please take your hand off.”
He looked at her and bit his lower lip. She didn’t give him a chance to talk as she started walking along the bank of the lake. Draco stood there, watching her.
“Agh!” he snarled in frustration. It was bad enough to despise her before, but now that he actually had feelings for this girl that didn’t involve any sort of disapproval, this staying away part was even more difficult, given that his stubbornness was still very much intact.
He stood there for a good five minutes before he decided to follow her.
* * *
Her shoes weighed her down heavily as Hermione trudged through the forest, wet leaves and thick dirt and sloppy, leftover grass all around her. She paused for a second to look up at the slices of white sunlight escaping through the wide, gaping spaces between the tree branches and felt her eyes sting at the contact with the brightness.
She looked down at the flower.
“I don’t understand a lot of things anymore,” she said to it. “But I always thought you would be something I’d be able to rely on.”
It was really kind of silly, but the human species learned dependency based on familiarity and comfort. A child’s teddy bear. A favorite sweater. A lucky sports cap. A worn pair of shoes that your feet step into every morning for years and years. Take whatever it may be - take it away, and a new lump forms in your throat.
That lump takes a while to go away. Meanwhile, Hermione was still freezing.
Her heart still felt heavy as she bundled up her scarf tightly. For the first time in a long time, she was alone. Truly alone. Not because Harry was dead. Not because Ron felt like a stranger. But because Draco wasn’t at her side to criticize her motives or her feelings. It felt lonely, very lonely. It was this strange sort of stillness, the kind that pressed itself so tightly against her neck that she felt it was choking her.
She loosened her burgundy tie and scratched her neck a bit where the wool had pressed up against it. An involuntary shudder wavered at her throat and escaped her mouth upon feeling the harsh air make contact with her neck.
Nobody deserved to be this alone, she thought, as she bundled up again.
A few more minutes of traveling lead her to an open space occupied by a small pond. She found that a bright smile had erupted upon her face and some temporary relief graced her thoughts as she sat down gingerly by the clear water and took her flower out of her bag.
It still looked as dead as ever.
“Hermione!”
“Oh my gosh!” Hermione’s heart nearly skipped a beat as she looked up and saw a startled looking Seamus Finnegan. “Seamus! What are you doing here?”
“Uh, I’m here with Lavender.” Seamus pointed at another spot nearby where Hermione’s roommate had suddenly emerged from behind a tree.
“Oh, hello,” Hermione said absently, scooping up some water.
“What are you doing here, Hermione?” Lavender asked curiously as she made her way toward Seamus. He took her hand and they both looked at Hermione. Lavender noticed the flower in Hermione’s hand.
Hermione chose to ignore the marks on Lavender’s neck. Seamus looked rather proud.
“Trying to find peace,” Hermione said, not really intending on sounding so rude.
“Well,” Lavender said loudly. “We did come here first, Hermione, so if you’re impl---”
“I know, Lavender,” Hermione said turning her head upward and shielding the sun away from her eyes with her hand. “This forest should be big enough for three people, right? I didn’t mean anything by what I said.”
“What are you doing, seriously?” Seamus asked, chuckling a bit. “You know that flower’s dead, right?”
“I’ve already told her,” Lavender said knowingly.
Hermione glared down at the flower and turned to them. “I wish everyone would stop saying that,” she said quietly.
“Oh, Hermione, please. Not again,” Lavender huffed. She rolled her eyes and whispered something into Seamus’ ear. He nodded and shook his head.
“Hermione, listen, we’ll go and give you your, uh, peace. But seriously, you’ve got us all worried. Maybe you should start talking to Ron, again. You seemed to have really messed the guy up.”
“What? I messed Ron up? You’re sorely mistaken,” Hermione said.
“I’m sorely not,” Seamus said. “Listen, I might as well be the one to tell you this, but the whole school thinks you’re fucking mad, no joke. Talking to yourself and disappearing off to places. Missing classes. I mean, come on. Look at what you’re doing right now . . .”
“Seamus.” Hermione clenched her teeth. “Please, shut up,”
“Or she might cry,” Lavender whispered not so quietly. “She’s been doing a lot of that lately, you know.”
Hermione fumed. She looked up at two people whom she used to call her friends.
“Aw, come on, Hermione knows I’m just trying to help. But seriously, watering a dead flower? Don’t you know that’s stupid?”
“What?” Hermione asked quietly. “Say that again.”
“I said the flower’s dead, you can’t bring the dead back to life, so you should just stop already. It’s just a stupid flower.”
To both Hermione, Lavender and Seamus’ surprise, Seamus promptly groaned loudly and fell to the ground, his head snapping to the side.
“Who the hell did that!” Seamus cried out painfully, wincing.
Hermione stared at Seamus and then down at her flower.
Draco had shown up.
“Oh my gosh!” Lavender shrieked as Draco effortlessly tripped her. He leaned against the tree and studied the fingernails of his right hand as Lavender helped Seamus up and the two of them fled.
“Damn,” Draco said when they were finally gone. “I accidentally hit the tree after I knocked a good one in that fucker Finnegan’s face.”
Hermione wasn’t looking at Draco; she was concentrating on the flower and noticed that beneath the first layer of petals, there was a thin layer of fresh pink ones. She looked down and saw that her hands were shaking.
“I don’t know why what Seamus said had so much effect on me,” Hermione said softly, looking down at the flower still.
“Forget him,” Draco said.
“It really hurt,” Hermione said. “I don’t really know why. Maybe because he was right? Maybe because Harry actually won’t come back?” She was talking to her own reflection in the pond.
“No,” Draco said sternly as he knelt down beside her, feeling his knees creak a little as his stiff bones bent.. “We’re going to bring Potter back. The magic will.”
“Magic isn’t supposed to allow death to be reversed, didn’t you know?” Hermione smiled a little smile. She swept the hair out of her eyes and turned to Draco, who was still knelt beside her.
She felt her ankles begin to tire from the weight, a little. But she ignored the stress and closed her eyes.
“Here,” Draco said roughly. “Let me try,” he said as she handed him the flower. He studied it carefully for a few seconds before he scooped some drops amongst the petal before handing it back to her.
“Don’t be scared,” Hermione said quietly.
“Why should I be scared?”
“I don’t know, because I am, too?”
“Great, so we’re two scared people who are working on this dangerous, ancient spell to turn back time and bring back the dead. This should turn out great.”
She looked over at him. “We have more in common than we think, you know? And it makes me so sad to think that you haven’t realized this, yet.”
“Realized what? That mountain lions and venom aren’t what separate us? That it’s not blood anymore?”
She didn’t respond.
“I’m not as ignorant as you think.”
“I never said you were.”
“You were thinking it. And it may have been idiotic of me to throw out that mountain lion analogy, but it’s what I’ve been taught. It’s what my father used to tell me, and I still do believe in it. There’s a difference between Purebloods and the Mud-Muggleborn, just like there’s a difference between the Chinese and the Japanese, the English and the Scottish.”
“Right . . .” Hermione didn’t know what to say.
“But I haven’t been around the world. And I especially haven’t seen the Muggle world. You know where I’ve been though? The other side. I’ve died. And there’s a new reason for me to be prejudice. It’s called life. You’re a human and I’m not, and right now, that still makes us very, very different.”
She looked down shamefully and her brows knit together tightly as she saw his hand.
He was bleeding.
His hand was cut from hitting Seamus and then landing roughly against the tree to catch his fall. It was there, his hand, and it was bleeding. Oozing with fresh, warm, sticky, red, crimson blood. The faint smell of iron was apparent in the air between them. But as Hermione moved closer to Draco, all she could smell, taste - all she could feel was his heavy breathing.
And the rapid beats her heart was producing.
“Draco.”
“So do you see why we can’t . . . continue what we’re doing?” Draco asked. “We’re not separated by blood anymore; we’re separated by life and death. And, right now, I’ll give that to you - that’s the only difference I really do care about.”
Draco Malfoy, Hermione noticed, certainly had the most roundabout way of apologizing in anyone she had met, yet.
She shook her head and took his hand in hers, not wanting to believe anything he was saying. All she could believe was what she was feeling, and that was his hand. And the flower in her other one, she would never let go of. She wasn’t sure if she was going to be letting go of either things in both her hands, actually.
“Nature’s law,” Hermione said delicately. “Has no rule over me and you. You’re not supposed to bleed. Magic forbids Wanderers to bleed. I’m not a Muggleborn and you’re not a Pureblood, we’re more than that, now. We’ve revolutionized.”
“Into something inexplicable. I know you don’t like when there are no answers.”
“I don’t know what this is, Draco, but I can’t stay away now. I’ve gotten too involved. So, don’t push me away.”
Draco looked down at his hands and smeared off the bit of blood that was leaking from his cut.
She placed her hand on top of it and he felt the comfortable human warmth of blood and muscle and bones wrapped up in soft, soothing skin and he closed his eyes, letting her hand stay on top of his for a second. His hand didn’t hurt so much from hitting Seamus anymore.
“I don’t really want to, you know,” he said, and his voice was scratchy and hoarse.
She closed her eyes and felt the breeze warming up slightly for the afternoon.
A blanket of quiet and soft comfort covered the moment, and just as the calmness that streams gently along the banks of a river are what seem eternal, nothing ever really is. And just like the storm brews that river into something else and is strong enough to knock a broken tree into it, erupting in violent splashes and noise, it was an erupted shriek that pierced the skies from Hermione’s throat that interrupted the nature, yet again. A flying fist flew in between them and Draco cried out as Hermione was pulled out of his arms.
Draco and his assailant tumbled around on the ground, and angry eyes that tore in Hermione’s direction momentarily before Draco was hit again. Draco ducked and hit him back and they fought vehemently.
Her lungs stopped functioning and her heart stopped for a split second in her chest, the last bit of air struggling to stay in her body as she felt her breath hitch. How come Draco is visible to others? Was the only thing that ran through her head before the circulation came back and she started screaming.
“Stop it! Please.”
Her blood ran cold as she got a better look.
The attacker was Ron.
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