Disclaimer: As I haven't undergone any sort of plastic surgery, I'm still pretty much the opposite of what J.K. Rowling looks like, so I'd have to be pretty damned stupid to pretend that anything more than the plot of this particular story is mine.
Okay, so I had this finished a few days ago, but life has been crazy. I have nothing but apologies for my half a year absence from this story, but can make no promises as to its not happening again. I hope it won't, and will try to make sure, but we can't always make the muses come when we want them, or stop them when we're too busy to write. Therefore, my only promises are that I will definitely finish this story eventually, that if you email me at [email protected] or tell me in your review, I will email you with notification of updates, and that if you review, my muses will do lovely happy-dances and I will be eternally grateful for all positive, negative, and indifferent feedback. Replies at bottom, as always. Please, enjoy reading.
As The Seasons Decay Chapter Fourteen
Hermione discreetly cast a time charm once more. Three whole seconds since the last time she had checked; and that was two more than the time before! Nervous was an understatement beyond belief. Despite her momentary respite from the tension of the school, the majority of her day had been spent wading through undertones that every one else seemed too afraid to give in to and dealing with all of the things that her Fridays always brought up.
Although it had crossed her mind to turn down being Head Girl, for fear of the workload (and she had hardly been wrong about the additional work) the prestige and the difference that she had hoped to make within the school had made her take the position. She did enjoy some aspects of it; a bit of a control freak, Hermione liked having the power to plan school functions and such, but on days like this, nothing seemed to make it worthwhile except her room. At the moment, she wanted nothing more than to throw her befuddling Transfiguration text to the floor and run up to the aforementioned room and curl up in her bed, but she knew better than that.
A small sigh on her right corresponded exactly with her own, and she looked around to find out who else was as unsettled as she was. Surprisingly enough, Draco Malfoy met her eyes for a split second, an unguarded moment where she would have sworn she had seen humanity in them. But, no, they had changed back, now the slick grey pupils of the slithering Slytherin slime she had come to loathe over the years at Hogwarts. He had never once treated her with any decent respect. Even when his family should have taken a beating with his father in Azkaban, gold and promises of power had whisked Lucius out of jail. He was soon back in the bosom of his family- and the bosom of Voldemort, she was certain.
Still, Hermione could not help but consider the boy who had been out on the cold day by the stormy water. That was not the place for young pricks during lunch time; he should have been laughing it up at the Slytherin table over Hermione's 'illness' and the subsequent break-up of the Gryffindor Trio. He should have been anywhere but looking small and vulnerable.
Hermione had never been able to help herself from trying to save the weak, as it was ingrained in her nature, but she did NOT want Draco to be one of those that needed saving. After all, what was the world coming to if even your worst enemy couldn't be trusted to act like it? And she had to admit, she had not heard much from him this year. Oh, he still tossed the occasional tired taunt her and Ron and Harry's way, but they seemed more out of habit than anything else.
No one else had noticed…no, that wasn't quite true either. She was sure that Professor Snape, and probably the Headmaster, knew all about Draco and his uncharacteristic silence this year. He was probably, she thought, worried that he wouldn't be absolutely fucking perfect when it came to his Death Eater…tests, or whatever the hell they were. Yeah, that was it. The little shit was just concerned that he wouldn't be the best little sycophant his daddy could raise. She sneered at the boy sitting a few rows down from her, and turned away before she was able to see his response. She didn't care what Draco Malfoy felt or thought, she decided. She just wanted to turn this damned frog into a lamp.
Her goal was at last accomplished, but tension remained. Tension and that strange feeling that she kept getting every time she happened to glance at Draco. She had better things to do with her time than worry about snooty little bastards, though, so she ignored her feelings and continued counting down the hours till her visit to the dungeons tonight. It was nearing dinner time, and she had only a couple of counseling sessions to deal with, and her homework…as much as she could get done, anyways. Hermione sighed and dug in to her work as tenaciously as she ever had, even if her heart wasn't really in it for once. After all, theoretical magick just didn't seem to matter all that much if they were all going to end up dead or enslaved by Voldemort…
Harry Potter. Harry Potter. Harold. James. Potter. Of Godric's Hollow. Son of James and Lily Potter, née Evans. That was who he was. He had been repeating such phrases in his head for the past few years in a vain attempt to a keep a sense of identity, but he was slipping away faster and faster, into a maelstrom of depravity and blackness.
Harry teetered at the edge of the Astronomy Tower, where he had wandered, lost in his thoughts. He didn't even realize his precarious position until a voice broke through the war in his head. A voice and a cool, pale hand that pulled at him until he was once again standing on the firm flagstones that had been part of the castle since it was built, and were as unshakable as what he had always been told the Light side of the war was.
But was what he had been told the truth? That was the quandary he had been facing for so long, battling with morals he hadn't been taught about until the age of eleven. He fought an even worse battle with the loyalty he had given, the loyalty that had been betrayed by the man who had put the fate of the world on his shoulders and then confined him to what amounted to a prison, in the form of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Just the thought of those twinkling, calm, omniscient but ever-so-blind blue eyes… And Harold James Potter of Godric's Hollow, born of James and Lilly Potter née Evans snapped.
Fists flew, curses and sweat and bits of black fabric that had moments ago been standard school robes littered the air and blood flowed onto the tatters of the school uniforms underneath. Both gave as good as they got; an even match of strength and will and pure undiluted frustration with a situation that had no solution. Wands had not even entered the melee; both had chosen the ages old male tradition of beating the absolute shit out of someone just because they could.
Minutes later, hours later…it was dark. And the flagstones were almost pooled with blood. Both fighters paused just long enough to regain breath, to nurse wounds too severe to continue with. And in that minute their eyes locked and they knew that it hadn't been about the fight, hadn't even been about the years-old enmity between them.
"Where the fuck'd my wand go?" Harry demanded brusquely, if more to himself than to the thin boy who was still trying to catch his breath. Harry was having difficulty finding his wand, though it was only a few feet away, because of the blood that was poring down his face from a particularly vicious scrape. The other boy, having regained his ability for coherent speech, straightened though still in pain and pointed it out. Once Harry had found it, and cleared up the blood on his face enough to see, he turned around for a glance at his nemesis. And brown eyes went wide with horror.
"Holy SHIT! I've…I've never…" his voice was soft and horrified and pleading and contrite and tinged with just a little bit of male pride.
"I have." Quiet words, but carrying the weight of the world as the speaker studied the dark-haired boy opposite him. And for once, the expression on Draco Malfoy's face didn't make Harry want to slug him.
It hadn't been painless but then, she had hardly expected it to be. Snape had been caustic, Snape had been hard, but even he was forced to admit that there was more point to her continuing as his assistant. Even if she did annoy him, even if he did have to make certain allowances for her age and inexperience. Hermione had gritted her teeth and taken the insults, but by the end of their discussion tonight, she had felt as though they were merely rote insults, like Draco's over the past year…
Damn it! Why did all of her thoughts keep circling back to Malfoy? Hermione would have liked to tell herself that it was only because he presented an aberration to the House of Slytherin, and perhaps he did if one were to look solely at his year, who were mostly a loathsome, ugly, and dull-witted bunch. Still, there were plenty of Slytherins that she had encountered in her counseling sessions that weren't all that bad…she even liked some of them, when they weren't around their Housemates. And there was Snape, too.
Something kept pestering her mind about the similarities between Draco and Snape. Oh, not physically, for Malfoy was ice-prince gorgeous and Snape the quintessential careless academic…although she was forced to admit that there was something similar in the arrogant way they carried themselves. Still, they were most alike where no one usually cared to look; inside the minds of two of the most disliked people at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And since Snape had been allowed redemption, had been given a second chance and an opportunity to make the world right, Hermione felt as though the turmoil inside Draco that she had caught the barest glimpse of deserved that same opportunity.
Then Hermione snorted. No, she really had no idea of what the kid wanted, and though she had always promised herself that she would keep an open mind about people, she was pretty sure that unless Draco came knocking on her door, she'd find it difficult to believe that he had changed.
As Hermione neared her room, she pondered whether to go to her rooms or her 'hide-out', as it were. But she finally decided that it would be too indulgent to utilize her special place more than once a day. She walked to her rooms and took down the wards. Stepping inside the room gave Hermione Granger one of the biggest shocks of her life.
Familiar slick blond hair was juxtaposed with equally familiar black locks in their customary disarray. Hermione stood in the doorway of her room, thick wooden door slowly swinging shut behind her, both blocking her way out and pushing her further into the room. She wasn't quite certain what to think. Him…and him…and they were….and it was those two!? Who would have ever thought?
Sitting on her bed, heads bent so close together they nearly touched, Draco Malfoy, ferret prick extraordinaire, and Harold Potter, ex-boyfriend from hell, seemed to be reading a book together. Christ, as if that wasn't a big enough surprise. Then she looked closer and realized that it was a copy of some Quidditch manual Harry had given her a few weeks after they had started going out, in the vain hope that she would develop a sudden passion for the sport that fed one of the few dreams he had ever had. An even closer, if still shocked, look revealed that the two weren't so much sitting quietly and enjoying companionship and a good book, but arguing like little boys.
After a moment, where Hermione'e entrance to her own room still hadn't been noted, their argument, unsolved, escalated to the point where they began to jostle each other, as though in a ridiculous attempt to prove their manliness by knocking the other off the bed.
Hermione's eyes narrowed in that time old movement of disciplinarians world wide; the expression that lets you know you're really in for it. And, once in a lifetime occasion or not, the two boys had broken into her room and now looked as though they were about to tear it apart in the no-holds barred brawl she had always feared their enmity would come to. Little did she know.
Just as the nudging began to verge from unfriendly to violent, Draco winced. Just once, just slightly, but it set Harry right back to that moment, hours, minutes, seconds ago, when he had stood on a stone parapet in November and watched the boy he'd thought his enemy nearly die from wounds he had inflicted himself.
He froze, swiftly and suddenly, trapped in memories of his own, violence and pain and fear, the emotions that had constituted most of his life. And, as though connected, Draco stopped too; turned to Harry and frowned, first in confusion and then…almost…almost as though he could empathize with the emotional Siberia Harry was caught in. Watching this all, still from several feet away, still unnoticed, Hermione cleared her throat and broke the spell. Any thoughts of fight, or even of empathy, flew from the minds of both.
Harry was the first to look up. At once, his face held the sort of little boy hope she had seen only a few times, like their first year, when he had gazed at her and Ron as thought almost unable to believe that he really had friends. And then even that bit of innocence faded, replaced by harsh lines, fatigue, more understanding of pain and suffering than he had had the day before. Hermione almost wanted to close her eyes against it, but hurtful words hurled at her and ostracism from her own House, led by him, allowed her to steel herself against the empathy that came naturally to her.
"What the hell are you doing in my room? Both of you!" Her voice was sharp, and accompanied by a look arrowed at both boys. Adult as they were, they couldn't help but shift almost sheepishly, especially as they saw her gaze change with the knowledge of their various wounds. "So it finally happened, huh?" Silence answered her question. They all knew what she meant, anyways.
Hermione did close her eyes this time, knowing that these wounds would be some of the cleanest she would be facing in the war times ahead. She had learned special incantations and potions and everything, but nothing academic could tell her of the harsh reality of a bloody wound, a broken bone. And worst of all was the truth that this tiff, brutal as it seemed to her, was so far less harsh than a reality that she sensed both boys had seen, that she herself would soon be introduced to.
Granger wasn't Sorted into Gryffindor for nothing, though. A deep breath and a gathering wave of her wand and she started in on the two. She quickly assessed wounds and catalogued and prioritized; everything but think about the type of frustration and anger that would make two human beings do things like this to each other.
She didn't know whether to be glad or annoyed at the hasty healings they had done to themselves, or to each other. It certainly made her job more difficult, as she had to undo everything in order to heal them properly, but she had a rather eerie feeling that they would have…died without their rough medical treatments.
Finally, sweat dripping from her forehead in a most unattractive way, Hermione sat back on her heels and viewed her impromptu patients. Nothing had been spoken other than 'put your foot here' and 'is this broken?' The tension of the room changed quickly, from that of a sick room to something more like the principal's office.
"Talk." Hermione was quiet, but so insistent that neither boy considered denying her. They sensed that she wasn't about to tattle on them; the old Hermione might have, but the girl who had come back to Seventh Year with a solid understanding of what it meant to be in a state of war was far different from the Know it All of their youth. In addition, they were deep in her debt for her medical knowledge and skill.
A few minutes of discourse and Hermione had the gist of the situation. Several more and she had almost more understanding of the psyche of either young man than she had perhaps ever wished to have. Still, it was something. And that something was enough to galvanize Hermione into action. In Fifth Year they had played around a little, learning Dark Defenses and even some curses, but the situation was even worse than they had thought it would be. Hermione knew that defense had ceased to be enough many months ago. She wanted to question Draco so much, wanted to prove to all of them that he was loyal, but one look in his eyes told her that his grip on what it meant to be on the other side of the fight was tenuous enough that any sign of mistrust might break it, and the Light simply couldn't afford that. Instead, she sat down with the now physically whole Seventh Years and began to make a plan.
Your reviews really do keep me going, and remind me that there is a reason other than evil demanding muses for my writing:
A hearty, sweet of choice filled thanks to: Fritti (you kicked me into remembering this story), Sweetevangeline (oh, how I know those two am reading binges!), XxphenixX (not sure where I plan to take anything, just hope that I get there *grin*. If you can, tell me if you get the email update for this. Thanks!), FifthOctave (Yes, I know it seemed out of character, and I'm glad you recognized my sad attempt to give credence to a situation which apparently was more clear in my mind than my story. And as for number of chapters, well, as many as it takes to get the job done, hehe), Addisonrae (I'm both thankful and flattered by the praise!), Tashie (Glad you find it intriguing!), Ezmerelda (Always nice to hear from a fellow WIKTTer, as well as that there was a purpose for my doing the links. I'm sorry that I didn't update soonL I hope you are still reading this, and that you still like my character portrayals *giggle*), Gagmewithasp0rkx (lovely sn you have there! I am ever so pleased that you rushed through work to read this, as well as that you did the work (see, cause I so often don't…). Yes, I love France and the language and such; I've been taking it for about 7 years now. If you like that all, then you might like my other story, Joke's On Her, which can be found by clicking on my author's profile above. Sorry, shameless little self plug there.), Heavenstone (Your praise makes me blush, and hope that I'm even remotely worthy of it. Thanks, by the way, for mentioning the lengthy paragraphs; I've gotten that before, and often try to watch it, but forgot to. I went back and made them shorter. And incidentally, I've written paragraphs of 1,000 words, so don't worry about *your's* being too long; the longer the review, in general, the happier I am), Mashnut (Thanks for the praise, and Harry is neither uptight, nor, though he seems it, a 'girl chasing idiot'; though first presented as such, I have tried to create the feeling later in the story of a very confused, very hurt boy in a very harsh reality. Hopefully this chapter helps that image; if it doesn't, I'd love it if you'd tell me what I'm doing wrong!), Cosmo-Queen (Both your email and this review made me so happy, but unfortunately were received at a time when my life had just gotten incredibly crazy, and so I, very badly, replied to neither. Please accept my heartfelt apologies for this! The specific things you point out that you like absolutely make my day. And yes, the 'softer side of Snape' will be developing, though I am unsure as to whether or when it will fully emerge. I am so pleased that I managed to create empathy for Draco, I was trying to get that without too much pity; as you can see from this chapter (I Hope!), I find him a cross between Snape and Harry. I can't wait to find out where he fits into the picture, either, hehe. Oh, the loathed exams. Mid-terms but a few months away, but we aren't thinking of that, now are we? Hope you did well on yoursJ Your praise was incredibly sweet and detailed, which, again, makes me actually believe it. We're all our own worst critics, eh? Speaking of which; have more faith in your own writing; I just read Sonnets for Sirius and it was quite good. I'm not a huge fan of parodies, but to each his own, and those content with their genre are truly awesome people. Oh, I take that all back. Er, the first part of it, I mean. After reading your version of Chapter 37 of OotP, I find that I enjoy parodies, at least yours, quite a bunch. Also, a sudden recollection, Minerva McGonogall's parody of Riley's PTQ is rather marvelous as well. One pages reviews are fine, but your email was friendly, open, and perfectly interesting; I'm such a curious person, and I can but thank you for writing it and again beg pardon for my sorry lack of efficacy in correspondence matters. Also, hope you don't mind this ever so long parenthetical thank you…), Shaneen (Hope you got my update email, glad you liked this story so much, and also hoping that you still are enjoying this story!), Madeleine Jete (Gosh, I don't know…have I lost you after all this time? Hope your exams went well…wait…didn't we already go over this, in reviews/replies of Joke's On Her? Too tired to recall. Glad there was surpise, not of the unpleasant sort, with the introduction of Draco into the story. Hoping this chapter goes over well; and also, thanks for reminding me about the paragraphs; your comments coupled with another's made me go back and change the previous chapter and to be very careful with this one. I hope. Thanks!).