"Blinding"

It seems that I have been held in some dreaming state,

A tourist in the waking world, never quite awake.

No kiss, no gentle word could wake me from this slumber,

Until I realized that it was you who held me under.

Hermione Granger was eighteen years old and living on her own in Diagon Alley. It had been a year since her friend, Harry Potter, had defeated Voldemort for the final time. Things were cheery in the wizarding world, and things were safe in the Muggle world. It was a good time for magical and non-magical peoples alike.

After the final battle, everyone had gone their own ways. Harry, exhausted from the battle and the days leading up to it, had left to live in the city and secretly train to become an Auror. He visited Hermione where she lived above the bookshop she owned. She was happy there, and Harry enjoyed the quiet coziness of the warm bookshop. Ron also visited Hermione frequently, as he only lived a few minutes away in his flat with George. He stopped by the shop on most days, some days staying all day and helping Hermione manage catalogs or check inventory. The two were dating, but more than that, they were best friends.

Hermione sometimes felt a bit claustrophobic, though. While she loved her home and her books and Ron, a part of her felt lost. She missed the short days and long nights of being on the run before they'd defeated Voldemort. She never spoke it aloud because it sounded crazy, but she missed living in the wild, in nature. Some days, she longed for the dangerous life she'd once led. She stuffed these feelings down, however, never telling a soul.

She was having one of these nostalgic days when a strange man ducked into her bookshop and shook the rain from his body. He had a long, tangled mass of black hair with a shock of violet running through it. His eyes were dark and tired and his expression haggard. Hermione knew that she'd seen him before, knew that she recognized him. She was trying to place her finger on it when he strolled up to the counter and rang the bell. He spoke, and his voice sent a familiar chill through the length of her body.

"How're you doin', Love?"

Felt it in my fists, in my feet, in the hollows of my eyelids.

Shaking through my skull, through my spine, and down through my ribs.

"Scabior," Hermione breathed. He winked a shadowy eye at her and smirked. "What- What are you doing here?"

"Well, Deary, I felt like I needed meself a new book," he spoke softly. "Got anything on pirates?"

Hermione shook her head, trying to clear her mind. There was no way that the snatcher was in her shop, right in front of her. The last time they'd seen each other had been near the time of the battle, and Hermione had believed that Scabior had been killed.

"Harry's not here," Hermione said fiercely, stepping out from behind the counter. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared at him. He grinned and Hermione caught a glimpse of a metallic gold tooth.

"I'm not here for Harry, Love," he told her, turning to face her. "I'm here for you." Hermione caught her breath while he continued. "I know what you've been thinking, how you've been missing your old life. I'm here to make you a deal," he whispered.

No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone.

No more calling like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden.

No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love.

No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love.

No more dreaming like a girl so in love with the wrong world.

Hermione defiantly stared at him, not willing to wonder what his deal might be. I don't care, she told herself. I am perfectly happy with my life now.

"Ah, but you're not," Scabior murmured, moving even closer to Hermione. Shocked, she tried not to show her emotions as she began to feel his breath on her neck. He spoke, "You don't have to lie to me. I can make you happy; I can give you what you want. You miss your old life, don't you? Miss living without cares, without responsibilities? I can give you that."

"And what, pray tell, would you ask in return?" She rolled her eyes, feigning disinterest.

"Only one thing," he said softly. "You'll be living with me and… helping me in a sort of personal quest."

Hermione's eyes widened, disgusted.

"I am not that kind of girl," she started, growing hot. "How dare you-" Scabior cut her off, shushing her.

"No, you've got it all wrong," Scabior said, shaking his head. "I need your help in finding someone." When Hermione still stared at him blankly, he continued. "I'd been working for Voldemort for two years when we found a child in the forest. He'd been abandoned in the cold with nothing but the blanket that he was wrapped in. The others wanted to leave him to die, but I couldn't. So, I took him with me."

When he saw Hermione raise her eyebrows questioningly, he added hastily, "Oh, don't look at me like that. I took good care of him. Only, one day near the end of Voldemort's time, the boy got out of my sight. He was only two…" She nodded slowly and looked right into his eyes.

"So, you want me to help you find this child?" He nodded, carefully watching her face. She thought of Ron, of Harry, of her shop, and of her safe life. Then, she thought of Scabior's lonely child out in the world somewhere, and her decision was made.

"I'll do it," she said seriously, and Scabior moved to hug her, but hesitated and patted her gently on the head instead. A curious thought occurred to her and, as she turned to go pack, she smiled.

Scabior had been pulling at straws when he guessed that she missed living on the run. He'd really come to her because he knew that she could- and would- help him. He trusted her magical abilities more than anyone else he could've gone to for help. And while that sample of the population was probably very slim, it still gave Hermione a nice boost in confidence that made her desperately hope that she'd made the right decision.

I could hear the thunder and see the lightning crack.

And all around the world was waking, I never could go back.

'Cause all the walls of dreaming, they were torn wide open.

And finally it seemed that the spell was broken.

Hermione had sent owls to both Harry and Ron. She told Harry to take care of himself and asked Ron if he could look after the shop until she returned. She didn't know how long she'd be away, but she wanted to keep the place running while she was gone. And she wasn't quite sure why, but she didn't tell the boys just who she was running away with. It felt better as a secret, and so she decided to keep it.

She set out with Scabior on the first of November. It was getting cold, but not too cold to travel. She carried a backpack with clothes and toiletries and an over-the-shoulder bag of other essentials- a first aid kit, water bottles, scissors and medicine. She carried her wand in her coat pocket and kept her hand near it at all times.

Scabior carried only his wand. He didn't have any bags or extra clothing. Whenever he needed something, he simply conjured it or, in the case of a deeper complexity, asked Hermione to conjure it for him. They started out talking very little but, as the days grew shorter and winter came, they found in each other a companion.

On November the 16th, Hermione woke up before Scabior. They were searching near the White Cliffs of Dover and so far, they had come up with nothing. They were sleeping in sleeping bags on the hard ground of a cave. The hunt had been somewhat disappointing, and they didn't feel as if they were getting any closer.

Glancing over in the gray morning at a still-sleeping Scabior, Hermione began to move toward the mouth of the cave. Once outside, the fresh air hit her and she nearly stumbled backwards. This was why she had left her life behind. She saw it in the glistening lakes and the still lingering fog above them. She saw it in the way her breath tumbled out of her mouth and formed smoke before her eyes. She saw it in the way that everything around her was pure and white and lovely. She mentally captured the moment, not daring to blink.

After a year of being asleep, she had finally woken up.

And all my bones began to shake, my eyes flew open.

And all my bones began to shake, my eyes flew open.

The following night, rain poured down. Scabior and Hermione hadn't been able to travel by foot in the dangerous weather, and since they weren't sure where they could go by apparating, they decided to stay put.

Hermione was huddled by the fire in the center of the cave, using her wand to turn the flames different colors. She watched them blaze a violent blue, then a deep emerald, then a bewitching purple. With a flick of her wand, she could extinguish the flames and then bring them roaring back to life in less than a second. She was drizzling water from her wand over the burning logs when Scabior sat down beside her. He pulled out his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the fire. The flames turned a rosy pink, exactly the shade of the shirt that Hermione was wearing. She turned to him, smiling softly and not trying to hide the worry from her eyes.

"How're you holding up?" She asked.

"I'm okay," he muttered, not looking at her, but keeping his gaze locked on the fire instead. He'd been disturbed for the last few days, and Hermione wanted to know what was bothering him.

"You know that we'll find him, right?" She said. "We're not going to give up."

He finally met her eyes, and the sadness that she saw there made her want to look away. She stayed unwavering, though, and didn't allow her eyes to fall.

"What if we don't?" He asked honestly. "What if he's already dea-" Hermione cut him off.

"Don't. You know that he's out there somewhere. He's waiting for you. Don't even start to think like that, okay?" She stared into his eyes and reached out her hand. She stroked his forehead and the side of his face. He closed his eyes and exhaled.

"Thank you," he said, opening his eyes a moment later. She looked at him, confused, and he continued. "For coming out here with me, for helping me." She nodded and turned to him, suddenly grinning.

"Do you want to play a game?"

No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone.

No more calling like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden.

No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love.

No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love.

No more dreaming like a girl so in love with the wrong world.

"Now you've got to drink!" Hermione giggled as Scabior downed the last of his Butterbeer. They'd been playing for two hours and Hermione's drink was still nearly full. Scabior, however, was out of the frothy liquid and was therefore the loser of the game.

"I still can't believe you've never been to a real footy match," she chuckled as she sipped her drink. He rolled his eyes mockingly, and her laughter got louder. "It's the best thing ever! The huge stands, the cheering people, the action of the game, it's all wonderful," she sighed.

"Well, I can't believe you've never been to Ireland," he laughed. "I mean, we're probably fifteen minutes from the little leprechaun lads right at this moment."

"Fifteen minutes? Fifteen minutes? We are not only fifteen minutes away from Ireland right now," Hermione scoffed, taking a long gulp of her drink.

"Yes, we are," Scabior beamed knowingly. "Let's go, right now. Let's march to Ireland!"

"Noooooo," Hermione shushed him, her cheeks flushed. She was lying on her side by the fire and was watching Scabior, who was lying on his back on the opposite side. She crawled over to him and plopped down.

"We are not going to Ireland," she whispered. She then promptly burst into a fit of giggles that caused Scabior to start laughing. Tears rolled down their cheeks as they rolled on the floor of the cave, watching their shadows dance on the walls.

"Okay, fine," Scabior sighed, holding his sides from laughing too much. "We won't go to Ireland," he slurred.

"That's right," Hermione nodded ferociously and drunkenly. "We won't!" She then scooted over next to Scabior and, without warning, kissed him right on the lips. She pulled back just as fast and surveyed his face. He was staring up at her, amused.

"What was that for?" He asked, a smile playing on his lips. She shrugged, giggling again, and toppled over. As she lay on the cave ground watching the shadows on the ceiling, Scabior turned to face her.

"Sweet girl," he murmured and leaned in, placing his lips on hers. Her lips parted a little as she kissed him back, and then playfully pushed him away.

"Enough for tonight," she laughed musically and rolled over, facing the fire. She left Scabior to take her last sip of Butterbeer and fall asleep smiling.

Snow White's stitching up the circuit boards,

Synapse slipping through the hidden door.

Snow White's stitching up the circuit board.

Hermione woke up with Scabior's muscular arm wrapped around her waist. The fire had long since burned out, and the air in the cave was still and gray. She reached a delicate hand to her pounding forehead, trying to remember the night before. She was struggling as she took in the empty Butterbeer bottles on the ground, and the memories came flooding back to her.

She remembered some sort of talk about Ireland, and she remembered the stitch in her side that came from laughing. Her eyes grew wide as she finally remembered the night. She leaned close to Scabior and examined him. His breath smelled of the sweet Butterbeer, and there was a hint of pink lipstick on his mouth. Hermione thought that he looked rather cute, but she shook her head immediately. There was no way that they could be together. She loved Ron, and she just couldn't have feelings for Scabior. They were on a mission here, and any messy emotions would only get in the way.

She stood and walked to the mouth of the cave, only to find that the rain had stopped sometime during the night. She walked back to their space in the cave and began to tidy up. They needed to move out today.

Scabior rolled over and stretched as she was finishing packing up.

"Morning, Love," he smiled, but his face fell as he realized that Hermione was upset. "What's the matter?" He asked, worried.

"Scabior, what happened last night…" She failed at finding the right words. "Well, we have to put it behind us. It wasn't really you, and it wasn't really me. We weren't ourselves," she settled. He stood up and walked over to her.

"You're telling me that you're a different person from the nice, fun girl that I saw last night?" He looked at her. "I think you're smarter than that, Hermione. You're too clever. You know that Butterbeer doesn't even get you that drunk, and you know that we really were very much ourselves last night," he said. She looked up and shrugged her shoulders, just like she had done the night before.

"I can't," she said. "Ron is back home, waiting for me. No matter what feelings I may have for you… We can't do this."

Scabior moved closer and placed his hands on her waist.

"I don't want you to be afraid," he whispered, raising one hand to tilt her chin up. "I'm here for you, whatever you need me to be. I can be a friend, or I can be more than that. Just tell me what you need me to be."

She shook her head, not finding the words to say. She leaned in to rest her head on his chest, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her.

"Don't you worry," he whispered into her soft hair. "I'm here."

No more dreaming of the dead, as if death itself was undone.

No more calling like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden.

No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love.

No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love.

No more dreaming like a girl so in love with the wrong world.

It had been three days since the 'incident' in the cave. Hermione and Scabior hadn't really decided what they were, yet. But whatever it was, they weren't going to rush things. Nothing else dramatic had happened, and they'd stayed far away from the Butterbeer. They'd moved onto searching in a forest near Leeds, very near the one in which Scabior had first come across the child.

"Tell me about him, your boy," Hermione said as they were walking through the forest. She had her hand in his, their fingers clasped. So, they had moved out of the friendship zone. They were encroaching upon 'relationship' territory, but they weren't putting a label on it.

"His name is Elijah," Scabior told her. "He has dark, curly hair and comes up to about my kneecaps. He's four by now, so he's probably grown a bit. He's got these clear blue eyes, honest eyes. He's really something," he smiled at the ground. Hermione squeezed his hand and, when he looked at her, she was smiling.

"I can't wait to meet hi-" She started, but stopped abruptly when they heard a sharp cry coming from somewhere nearby. It was a childish cry, an innocent cry. Scabior dropped Hermione's hand and ran toward the sound, not daring to hope, but not daring to stop.

Hermione ran after him, struggling to keep up. When she reached him, he was stopped completely. There was a small boy about four yards away from them. He had a tangled mass of dark locks, and he was badly scarred and bruised on his arms and legs. He fell to his knees just as Scabior ran to him.

He scooped up the boy in his arms and held him close. Hermione heard him muttering the child's name and couldn't stop the tears from springing to her eyes. She held her hand over her mouth as she watched the scene unfold, breathing in the cold air and thanking God that she was alive and here.

Snow White's stitching up the circuit boards,

Synapse slipping through the hidden door.

Snow White's stitching up the circuit board.