Breaking Storm
Disclaimer: don't own any of the characters except the Woman in Black, and the plot.
Thanks to my awesome beta-reader, Tiffany.
And also thanks to all the reviewers who have loyally continued to read this story and reviewed. Thanks very, very much. I hope you enjoy this chapter.
-tearsofher
Chapter Twelve: When Morning Comes
oooooooooooooooooooooooooo
"When morning comes,
and the pain is still too new,
you can't face the sunlight
pouring from your windowsill.
Because even the sun's beams seem to know
You're the one at fault."
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Lavender, Ginny, and her other dorm mates were sitting beside and in front of her, worried and on the edge of panicking. Hermione let out a big breath, trying to get her lungs to function again, as Lavender spoke.
"Hermione... What happened?" she asked, concern in her eyes. Hermione could feel her fingers throbbing, her chest as if to explode, her legs numb and buzzing.
"Just a bad dream," she said, her voice shaky and wavering tremendously. The other girls let out a sigh of relief, as they all smiled, alarm fading from their faces. Lavender nodded, but didn't seem convinced.
"Are you sure? You were screaming, and thrashing about... it seemed... I've never seen a bad dream do that to a person before. It was... It seemed like you were really in pain." Hermione tried to smile reassuringly at Lavender, but even her smile was trembling.
"I'm fine," she said, and Lavender just looked at her, silent. Suddenly, she heard a gasp.
"Hermione! Your arms!" she heard Ginny say, and instantly everyone's gaze was directed to her arms. Hermione stared at it in horror, as did everyone else. Blood was dripping from her both of her arms, sliding down to her palms and wrists. Hermione could see the wounds which her fingers had dug into. She felt something frigid wash over her, as if in a shocked state. It had been real. She knew it was real, but...it was just a dream. It couldn't have...it couldn't have been possible. It was just a bad dream. A horrible dream. But not something that could do this. Everyone stared at her, as she slowly stood up, blood still running down across her forearms and dripping from her fingers.
"I guess...I guess it must've happened during my bad dream," she said quietly, so unsure and scared she knew everyone heard it too. "I was holding myself too tightly." She looked up at them, as they were still shocked and worried.
"I'm fine," she said to them, "I'm just going to go wash up in the bathroom. It's just a minor wound," and she hurried off to the bathrooms. Lavender stared after her, as the room fell deadly silent as the door closed. Everyone was still, their eyes still on the door. Finally, Ginny and Pavarti got up and headed to their beds.
"How odd," Pavarti said, as she climbed into her bed. "Have you ever seen that happen to someone before just because of a bad dream?"
"Never in my life," Ginny agreed, and there were some agreements around the room as they all stood up, one by one. Pavarti eyed Lavender, who was the only one who hadn't gone to her bed yet.
"What's wrong, Lavender? I know it's strange, and she might as well be lying for all we know, but Hermione's always been peculiar. You shouldn't worry too much or get worked up about it. I'm sure it'll all clear up soon. Besides," Pavarti grinned. "She's got the famous Harry Potter, doesn't she? I'm sure he can save her from whatever it is." There were some giggles and snickers the girls, as it had been a common rumor that there had been some sparks between them. Lavender shook her head, as she got up.
"Don't be silly," she said, "you know there's absolutely nothing going on between Hermione and Harry. They're just friends." Lavender sat on her bed, and lay down, staring at the ceiling. It was still quite dark, and the room was gloomy. The moon was still visible outside, though only faintly. There was silence, before she heard Pavarti's voice again; there was a wide smile in her voice.
"Ah, that's only what they tell us. What they tell us isn't always the truth." The girls erupted into giggles around the room, while Lavender only smiled. But as the giggles and laughs faded into silence, and soft breaths filled the room, Lavender stayed awake. There was an odd and nagging feeling inside of her that told her that there was something strange going on with Hermione. That what she had hadn't just been a mere nightmare. After all, who woke up from their bad dream with blood running down their arms?
It wasn't common, even in the Wizarding world.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Hermione stared at herself in the mirror, the light white and blinding. She was covered with sweat and tears, the blood from her arms dripping to the sink top. She sighed unsteadily, before she turned on the faucet and dipped her hands underneath the running water. She cupped some water in one of her hands and poured it down one of her arms, accompanying the dark blood. Slowly she raised her hand on her arm and washed the blood away, swirling into the sink then going down the drain. Her wounds stung, just as she clearly saw the five crescent moon shaped wounds she had gotten. She sighed again, as she did her other arm. She was still shaking, terrified and so uncertain about what had happened. She closed her eyes, the noise of the running water sounding distinct to her ears. She could still hear her. Her haunting replies, and whispers. She said that she had known what she was feeling, her pain. But how? How could she know? But then her other answer had come echoing in her ears once again. "Revenge," it whispered, and her eyes bolted open. She was met with her own reflection in the mirror, scared, horrified, pale and trembling. She turned off the sink, as the running water rapidly shut off. She sighed again, feeling the ache of her body and limbs. She felt as if she had literally been tried and tried to being torn apart. As if her body, her arms, her legs, her neck, had all been pulled in the opposite direction. Even the cold and light in the bathroom brought her pain and made her weak. Silently, she turned away from the mirror and grabbed a towel, the soft cloth held in her palms and fingers.
She went over to the bathtub and turned on the water and bubbles; choosing vanilla, knowing how much that scent had always managed to soothe and calm her down all those times before. As she let the tub fill, she slowly stripped off her clothes, the air seeming cool but bitter against her bare skin. She turned off the valve as it was almost up to the neck, white and sweet smelling bubbles almost beckoning for her to come in. She went in, and let out a satisfied sigh as she felt the warmth of the water splash against her skin, the scent filling her nose and relaxing her senses. At least, almost all of her senses. She sunk in, until it was up to her chin, closing her eyes, trying to clear her mind. Only, erasing those visions was too hard to manage. But trying to erase his piercing and enthralling gaze from her memory and mind was harder. It seemed impossible. She could feel frustration and anger rise in her.
How was it that she could not seem to escape him, wherever she went? Even in her dreams, even when she was completely alone. He was there. His silver gaze was still penetrating through her, reading her, haunting her. She wanted it to go away. To vanish, to disappear. But no matter how hard she forced her eyes shut and tried to make it wane or fade away, it was still there, unmoving, unwavering. Still as strong as ever. She felt her hands clench into fists underneath the water.
She hated him. He wasn't supposed to be on her mind, he didn't deserve to be. He was the one who had hurt her; he was the one who had said those words. So then why was it that she was stuck with these painful memories, visions? It wasn't fair that her heart was missing and gone, because now he held it in his hands. It wasn't fair now that she could not take it back, without him knowing her affection for him.
He had broken her heart; hurt her deeply, without even knowing it.
How was she going to explain that? She wasn't. She wasn't going to look at him, wasn't going to speak to him. She would pretend nothing had happened. He hadn't really hurt her. He hadn't really driven her to tears. He hadn't really laughed and talked with her those days.
He was a pureblood Slytherin, and she was the Gryffindor Mudblood. How simple could it get? Nothing had changed. Nothing ever would.
Slowly, she dipped her head under the water, holding her breath and sinking to the very bottom. She could only see darkness inside her closed lids, but she could feel the water's slow but powerful motion around her, swaying her gently. She could feel the hard and firm bottom of the tub, as she willed herself to sink lower and lower, until she was no longer capable to raise her head up above the water. She wanted to be washed away, washed away from the cruel reality, washed away from the boy who had broken her heart and his deep silver gaze, washed away from her hurt and pain. She had no urge to raise and breathe in air to satisfy her screaming, aching lungs. She wanted to stay at the bottom, where the sound seemed to be muffled, and no one could find her. Slowly, she felt herself slipping away, the water carrying her body and wrapping itself around her, not willing to let go. She could hear it, the water's song, its whispers. She could hear what they were saying softly to her, as her heartbeats slowed and faded away distinctively. Pictures and visions flickered in her mind; pictures of Harry and Ron, laughing with the sunlight glowing behind them. Pictures of the Gryffindor girls giggling and chatting about boys and make- up. Pictures of Draco and his smirk that made her heart stop. His silver gaze, his smile, the twinkle in his eyes when he laughed. His voice, the feeling of his hand wrapped tightly around hers. The way he had held her to him, and felt as if he was not willing to ever let go either. The way he had whispered her name, and made a sacred, radiant light fill her soul like never before. The look of sadness in his cloudy and dark eyes. It all came back to her, swirling and trapping her in.
Just then she felt a burst of pain erupt in her, internally. Her heart was throbbing, pounding. Something crackled and buzzed through her fingers and feet, her skin feeling warm but translucent. She heard his voice. Calling her name, whispering to recall her promise to him. And suddenly, she felt his arms around her again. She heard his heart beat rapidly against hers, his fingers caressing her back. His smell invaded her senses, strong and entrancing. She felt his warmth around her, the feel of his hair tickling her cheek.
Hermione bolted up above the water, as she gasped for breath. Her heart was pounding in her ears, her lungs thirsting intensely. She took in vast amounts of air, as water dripped down her face. But she still felt a deep, agonizing pain in her lungs and stomach, as she doubled over. She covered her face with her hands, and she noticed that now, more water was spilling out, sliding down her wet face. In her mouth, a salty and bittersweet taste seemed to fill and intrude.
She watched, as a teardrop fell and splashed into the pool of white bubbles below. She thought she had been all cried out. She was wrong.
Draco watched silently as people entered the Great Hall, laughing and talking happily. His silver gaze was dark, intact and sharp.
She hadn't come in yet.
He waited, not touching his plate or cup, as the tables began to fill. He heard their noisy conversations and hearty laughter, but paid no attention. Everything seemed blurred, the sounds around him muffled, but he didn't care. He was waiting for her.
His heart ached and lurched, closing his eyes and thinking about what he had done. Her sad, glossy and hurt eyes still engraved in his memory, denying him of any sleep or rest. All night, he had been up, thinking about her, and his words. And the impact they had had on her. There was no escaping her, he knew, no matter how hard he tried to hate her and make her haunting eyes vanish from his memory. He couldn't. Every time he saw them, his heart would thrash about, screaming and shrieking, his conscience tugging and tearing him to pieces. Her eyes would burn him, his flesh, his gaze, his heart. It was powerful and strong, and left him in charred pieces, but he welcomed it. The fire she sent, the warmth, was all he needed. It left him feeling hazy and wanted, left him wanting more. More of her.
There were times, that night, when the moonlight still penetrated through the heavy curtains, when he wondered if she was having a hard time getting that visit from the sandman too. But he mentally slapped himself and shook that thought away. He felt as if he didn't even deserve to think of her, to wonder what she was doing, thinking, feeling. He didn't deserve any sleep. He didn't deserve to be haunted by her; she was too pure, too beautiful. She would never be like him. She was so different, so much better.
She deserved to be treated so much better. He knew that, right from the beginning. She was different from all of them, every single one. She was better, smart, kind and understanding. She had the eyes to bore and pierce through anyone, even the coldest heart. And he had the evidence to prove it to be true.
It was him. He was the proof.
His words stung even him, making him cringe and swear under his breath. She didn't deserve such treatment, although it was true. He had been so cruel, so wicked and heartless.
And maybe he was. Maybe he hadn't changed; maybe he was still that same coldhearted monster. But that was almost impossible. When they had spent all that time in the library together... Something had shifted inside him. Something had changed, because of her. He was not the same person. He couldn't be. She had changed him, filled that void he had had for most of his life. She made him different. She made him feel everything he hadn't felt before, everything he hadn't had a chance to feel before. She made him feel... For her. And that was enough. That was enough to tear him apart when he uttered those words to her, when he saw that look in her eyes.
But just then, someone walked in the Great Hall. Someone with wavy long, brown hair that was just too familiar. He lifted his gaze up immediately, and what he saw made his heart lurch. It was her. She walked to the Gryffindor table, and sat by her two friends; Potter and redhead Weasley. His gaze was locked on her, watching her every move, feeling his heart call out to her. But she never looked up. She kept her gaze down, her curls falling, covering her face, and it made him just want to reach out and tuck it behind her ear. But he couldn't. Even if he tried, she was still out of his reach. And it hurt to know that she was always going to be out of his reach.
He watched as Harry looked at her and smiled, and she gave him a weak smile in return, then turned away and took a sip of her pumpkin juice. That was when he had his first clear look at her face.
She was deathly pale, her eyes brimmed with red. He felt guilt rip through him, regret swelling up and making it hard for him to swallow. He could see her delicate and small hands, her long, slender fingers curled around her cup. Her eyes were dark; almost so dark they were no longer the shade of brown he had grown to love. She did not look at him, and he felt disappointment spread through him.
He deserved this. He really did. But then why was it that he was getting so angry that she was avoiding him, not looking his way? Why was it that he wanted to stride over to her and hold her again?
He knew why. He had always known, somehow, someway. He had only realized it nights ago, thinking about her and the way her smile seemed to fill him with something unexplainable but pleasant. It just hit him, and suddenly he knew the answers to all his questions.
She was it. She was the answer.
Harry looked worriedly over at the girl beside him, who seemed to be just playing with her food weakly. Her eyes were dim and cloudy, her face pale; paler than he had ever seen. Something was wrong. She was too quiet, and something about her just screamed that something strange was happening.
"Hermione?" Harry asked. She halted playing with her food slowly, as she looked up at him.
"What is it, Harry?" she asked softly, concern spreading across her features. "Is there something wrong?"
"I'm fine, but I'm worried..." Hermione looked at him, puzzled.
"About what?"
"You." Hermione stared into his emerald eyes, before giving him that same weak and empty smile that she used to cover up her emotions. She looked down, and started sliding her food across her plate with her fork again.
"You shouldn't be worrying about me, Harry," she said. "You worry too much for your own good sometimes." She sighed, and looked up at him. "I'm fine, really. I just...hadn't had much sleep, that's all. I had...a bad dream," she smiled faintly. "A bad dream. That's it."
"That doesn't convince me, Hermione," he said.
"You just have to trust me, Harry," she said, "have I ever lied to you?" Hermione felt guilt mount inside of her. It never felt right lying to Harry, especially when it came to this, but she just couldn't tell him. She couldn't tell anyone at all. It was for the best. Things were already too complicated, and she didn't want anyone worrying about her. It only made things worse, and she couldn't afford that. Not now, not when all this was happening.
"No," he replied. "I guess you haven't," he said softly. She smiled.
"And I would only lie to you if...if it was for the best, you know that." Harry's gaze flickered up to hers, suspicious.
"What do you mean?" he asked. Hermione sighed inaudibly.
"I mean...you just have to trust me. There are some things you're better off without knowing."
"Hermione, I--"he stopped, as he thought it over and closed his mouth again. "I understand," he said. "It's-- we're, well, I'm not going to pressure you into telling us if you don't want to." Hermione smiled at him, grateful.
"But," he said, "I'm trusting you on this, Hermione. If it's something really important and we need to know but you don't tell us...I.... Just know that I'm going to listen anytime you need me to."
"Thanks, Harry," she said. "I knew you would understand." Harry looked at her uncertainly, but covered it up with a grin as she looked up.
"Anytime, Hermione. Anytime."