[ hp ] life shelves.
life shelves
hermione granger, draco/hermione
it's a matter of pride, of dignity, and painting doors red.
The world ignites.
Or at least, this is what it feels like to her. White light pours into her vision and her eyes sting, as if a million spotlights have shined directly into them. Distantly, she is aware (-constant vigilance constant vigilance constant-) of gravity pulling her backwards, of her name scissoring through the thick fog, but it is not enough to pull her through. There are flashes of colour, a rainbow of memories, and someone is screaming-someone, maybe it's her, but she isn't sure; she feels as if someone is hammering a thousand nails into her skull and it hurts, it hurts and she cannot do anything.
Then, there is her father, suspended in the air, glass shattering everywhere through her first accidental use of magic; as a child, isolated from all her other classmates-fast forward-meeting Ron and Harry; getting sorted into Gryffindor; punching Malfoy-fast forward-kissing Ron for the first time; dancing with Harry; returning to the Order-
"No!"
But she cannot keep the person out, whoever is performing Legilimency on her, and so she works quickly to try to blur the faces and the words because she cannot give away where their safe house is. Suddenly, the pain disappears. All of it. All that's left is a dull, throbbing ache, and when she opens her eyes, she can see a familiar blond-haired figure barking orders.
Hermione tries to speak, but she finds that her voice is locked, and she trembles so violently that her fingers can no longer grip her wand.
Malfoy turns, then. He seems to assess her condition in the span of two seconds before placing his hands under her arms and lifting her up. She stares. His expression is unreadable. Hermione is handed off to someone, and then her stomach twists and coils in the familiar feeling of apparition.
The white walls of St. Mungo's glare at her.
.
"What happened?" she demands harshly, once she wakes again. Ginny is sitting across from her. Harry is away searching for Horcruxes and Ron is out on another mission. The others, Hermione hasn't a clue where they are, and the fear of the unknown creeps into her mind.
"They had a Legilimens with them," Ginny says in a rehearsed tone, as if reciting this verbatim, "They were here to attempt to get more information on the Order, and once they saw you, well, they went for you immediately. Goldstein noticed and informed Malfoy of what he saw, and he tried to intercept, so the spell was botched up-which is probably why it hurt and its effects lasted so long. Then the caster was hexed, which was when you-"
Arthur Weasley enters the room. Ginny breaks off, staring at her father, at his sunken eyes and pale pallor. Hermione knows that their family is scattered all over the place, now. There are no more cozy meals at the Burrow, no more parties and songs and laughter. Not when there is a war outside.
"Hermione, we need-" he pauses and seems to rethink his words, because he starts over, "I am very glad to see that you are alright, but it's of the utmost urgency that we know what the Legilimens extracted from you."
"Dad," Ginny begins, darting a worried look at Hermione, but the latter smiles tiredly at the young girl.
"I'm fine, and they didn't find anything," but she thinks of how they were so, so close to knowing the location of one of the safe houses that her expression flickers. Arthur notices instantly.
"Hermione."
She is quiet when she says, "They were-close, to finding the location of one of the safe houses." At his expression, she hurriedly adds, "But they didn't! I did something, I'm not sure what, but I know they didn't get any important information."
"Are you-"
"One hundred per cent."
Arthur looks at her calculatingly. Then he relents, sighing heavily. "You'll have to write up a report to Moody later."
"Yes, of course."
He leaves quickly afterwards, but not without a few words to his daughter and a quick hug. Hermione looks at Ginny, whose eyes are rimmed red but rage brightly with suppressed fire. "Thank you."
Ginny nods at Hermione but says nothing else, seeming at a loss. Hermione finds it a little sad, how they used to be able to talk about everything and anything, but now, they are so far apart and Ginny has become distant and unfamiliar, filled with hatred that no person should know.
"You'll be released later on today, I'm told," Ginny says uncomfortably. Then, hesitatingly, she touches Hermione's hand. "You're welcome."
.
She has five textbooks, each with more than eight hundred words, on the topic of Legilimency and Occlumency. She is in the middle of hi-lighting one of them when someone approaches; when she looks up, she sees that it's Malfoy, walking by her with all the arrogance and bigotry that a man like him possesses. (she will admit that he has been acting-civil, lately, although she will never say it aloud.)
Ever since he'd arrived at the Order, he'd been forced to act as such. One misstep and he was gone.
His footsteps slow just as he passes her. Then he halts entirely, and the weight of his gaze is far too heavy for her to ignore him. Hermione tears her eyes away from the book, narrowing her eyes at him, "What, Malfoy?"
His lips stretch into a thin line at her tone of voice. "Do you really think you can learn how to be an Occlumens by reading about it?"
"I'll have you know that I learned how to brew Polyjuice potion in second year by reading about it," she replies scathingly.
"I'm sure you did," he says dryly. He sits on the arm of the nearby chair, arms folded together. "But that's different, Granger. That's a potion. Spells-especially ones like these-are particularly difficult to learn without practical means."
"And I suppose you know all about it, do you-?"
"Yes, in fact, I do. Or at least, more than you." He casts a glance at the textbooks and the hi-lighter in her fingers, and his voice holds just a little more derision when he speaks again. "Definitely more than you." She stares and barely refrains from openly gaping, because she did not expect this answer. He looks smugly at her. All that's missing is a little hair flip to accentuate it.
Her eyes narrow. "I don't believe you."
"Of course you don't, Granger. But," he crooks a long, pale finger in the direction of her books, "you aren't going to get very far without practising it."
"And what do you recommend, Malfoy? Casting the spell at a mirror and doing it on myself? Congratulations, you've managed to be of no help at all!"
With that, she slams the book shut and storms out with all the determination and flair she can muster.
.
Early morning and there is already screaming.
It takes her a moment to process what kind of screaming it is; she goes through all the possibilities before realising that some sort of fight is happening downstairs. There is only one person doing all the yelling, and in her bleary, half-asleep state of mind, she can only discern the words Malfoy and Slytherin and a string of curse words, both Muggle and Wizarding. Not everyone had accepted him, after all. If she strains, she can hear Malfoy's quiet, icy voice, cutting through the air, tossing words like Gryffindor and choices and it never, ever seems to end.
Seamus raises his voice louder.
.
She doesn't like Draco Malfoy.
He's-annoying. She doesn't know how else to describe it. He's always there, and she hasn't a clue how to deal with it. He is annoying and he is racist and he hates her. He hates her, and this is the one thing about him that she is absolutely sure of. (but he hasn't called her that word in the longest time. is that a measure of his hate?) His hatred-or at least, constant irritation with her-is a constant, one that she holds to in this world of variables.
He is intimidating. This is another thing she'll never admit to him, but he is. He will raise his voice and he will lower it, but when he is angry you will listen because you can't do anything but listen. Hermione tramples over this after the first few fights, though-instead, she retaliates and lashes back as quickly as possible.
"In case you haven't forgotten what you did," the textbook falls to the floor with a thud, "you helped kill-"
(she would like to say that she has forgiven him for what he's done. that she does not blame him or hold a grudge, not anymore. but when she thinks of all the people crammed into the tiny safe house, her parents without their memories in a distant country, all the people who've died, and of hogwarts, the place she called her second home, getting invaded by death eaters--she can't. she can't. she can't be forgiving, she can't be humble, she can't be the kind of person she wants to be.)
"Don't talk about what happened like you know the whole story," he whips back, "And stop acting like a frigging saint, it's revolting." She starts to speak again (denialdenialdenial), but he continues, glaring at her with enough intensity to bring her to her knees. She keeps standing. "But of course, perfect little Granger can't hear anything, what with your pedestal raised so fucking high."
And it continues.
.
"Ron, just do it," she says. Harry isn't here and there isn't anyone else she trusts more aside from Ron, and so she turns to him. He looks uncertainly at her. The expression is so familiar that she feels as if she's back at Hogwarts, teaching them a new spell (it's Levi-O-sa, not Levio-SAR)-
"You sure? You know, maybe you should get someone else to do this."
"Ron."
"Fine, fine… Leg-legilimens!"
It nearly works. She can feel Ron's magic probing around her head, pushing uncomfortably, trying to uncover her thoughts, her emotions, her memories. But he is not a skilled Legilimens, and so the closest he comes to are her feelings, so she works on suppressing those instead. Hermione tries to empty herself, her mind, her thoughts, but Malfoy breaks through the haze: "You aren't actually getting the Weasel to help you?"
Her frustration bursts. Ron yelps at the unexpected flare of emotion, ends the connection accidentally, and they are both brought back into the present. Malfoy sneers down at the two of them. Ron's face blooms red, and Hermione knows that her face must have a similar tinge. "Sod off, Malfoy," Ron says coldly.
Malfoy ignores him. "Granger, really? You're resorting to him?"
"It worked," she snarls, "until you came around and I heard your voice. It's like hearing nails scratching against a chalkboard!"
He either doesn't know what she means or he simply chooses to ignore her. "Then you failed," he states, "you have to clear your mind, Granger."
"It was her first time!" Ron says in her defense, and she is grateful, but-but she lingers on the word failed, just like he knows she would. She scowls in his direction.
"Again, Ron!" she snaps.
"What-?"
"Don't let Malfoy," she spits his name as if she'd said Voldemort, "distract you."
"I-" a frustrated sigh, "Legilimens."
Blissful, peaceful, silence.
Then:
"…Granger. Graaanger. Granger. Grangeeeer."
An aggravated noise.
"What, Malfoy?"
He smirks.
"You failed again."
.
She swallows red.
Their mission is completely ruined, and there is red, red everywhere, painted on the walls, on the ground. It coats her skin and while she's standing in the middle of the cacophony of shouts and spells and bursts of light, all that she can think about is how she will never be able to wash the blood off her hands. (maybe this is a symbolic thing. she tries to stop thinking before she automatically analyses it, even though she knows what it means, even though she cannot stop.)
"Legilimens!" someone yells. From her textbooks and trustworthy facts, she knows that this means that the caster is not powerful enough to do it nonverbally. But it still does it all the same, and she lunges in some random direction, hoping to dodge it-
It isn't directed at her, but at Malfoy, and she sees him notice at the very last moment-too late, his knees fold, and it is very unlike him to be distracted. "Malfoy!" she shouts, trying to jolt him out of it. She stumbles over to him, slapping her palms against his pale cheeks, staining them with her dirty, dirty blood. The glazed look in his eyes doesn't disappear and she begins muttering nonsensical words and she doesn't know what to do and she is Hermione Granger and she has to know what to do--because this is who she is.
Then suddenly, she knows. Hermione whirls around and casts a Stupefy at the same time an Avada Kedavra leaves Malfoy's lips; it scares her so much her hand jerks and she misses by an inch. The caster crumples to the ground, dying painlessly surrounded by green light.
She stares at Malfoy, the fury in his grey eyes, and nearly flinches at the utter loathing in them. She has questions for him (what did the Legilimens see in your mind?) but there is (always) a war going on around them, and it is not the time.
Hermione turns and casts a hex at another Death Eater.
.
"Malfoy," she begins, and before she even finishes saying his name, he's already saying, "No."
Hermione blinks, "What?"
He looks up from the book he's reading, peering up at her. "No," he repeats simply.
"I-you haven't even heard what I've said! You don't even know if I'm asking a question."
"No?" It isn't an answer, this time. He closes the book, but keeps his thumb in place. "Let me guess, then. You want to know how I snapped out of it." She doesn't answer. He nearly snorts. "Predictable, Granger."
Her teeth bite down on her lip. She gnaws at it, staring at him. Debating. She thinks of asking-asking for help. She knows that he's an Occlumens; at least, after that fight she knew for sure. But it hadn't even been a full half minute and he'd been able to block out the Legilimens and overcome him.
This is a skill she wants-no, needs-to learn.
They sit in silence.
.
It's been months and she hasn't heard from Harry. Despite her constant pestering, nobody will tell her anything. They do not trust her with such information, especially after the Legilimens incident. It irritates her to no end.
And Ron-Ron arrives back from another mission all beaten and bloodied and there is this big, gaping wound in his chest, and the first thing Hermione does is throw up on the floor. She can't handle it if Ron leaves, not for good. He can't leave to a place where she cannot follow. Not another one of her boys.
She watches him being rushed to St. Mungo's with an increasing feeling of dread that coils in her stomach. Ginny Apparates after them, all teary-eyed and shaky and she really isn't fit to do such a thing, but Hermione doesn't stop her because it's her brother and Ginny needs to be with him.
Later, she will bring cleaning supplies for the mess she made, and Cho Chang will approach her.
"Do you need help?" she will say, hesitantly, softly, because they do not know each other, but they know of each other.
Hermione will stare at her and try to answer. Yes, she will think after a moment, but for an entirely different reason. It will take her even longer to voice her confirmation aloud.
.
"I need help."
"Just realised that now, did you?" He doesn't look up. He's always reading, sometimes even more than her.
Hermione bites back a retort. "Malfoy," a pleading tone creeps into her voice and she almost hates herself for it, but it makes him look at her. She meets his gaze calmly, steadily, unwavering. His expression is contemplative.
Then he reaches for his wand, and with a flick of his wrist- "Legilimens!"
She's caught completely off-guard. Immediately, he grasps onto her emotions. She feels his magic tug at her and she gasps-whether it's in her mind or out loud or both, she isn't sure. Quelling her shock, she tries to empty herself, like the books said. Empty herself and clear her mind. He begins to rifle through her thoughts, and she can feel his amusement in her mind. It's the strangest thing, but it isn't uncomfortable.
But he delves further and reaches for her memories.
This is where her panic starts. His magic feels like a worm wriggling in her brain and she can't get it out. She is so very vulnerable before him and it scares her more than she initially realised. Admittedly, she is the one who asked him for help, but she never thought-hasn't thought-of the trust factor in the equation. She's forgotten the reason why she'd only wanted Ron to cast the spell on her in the first place, and even then she was uncomfortable opening herself up to him. Now, opening herself in all her entirety to Malfoy, of all people--
Hermione doesn't bother trying to suppress anything. Get out! Stop it now! she thinks desperately. Suddenly she thinks of possibilities. Betrayal and confidential information and she full out panics, because what if Malfoy is a traitor, what if he tries to get information on Harry, whatifwhatifwhatif.
His presence disappears from her mind. As soon as the living room of Grimmauld Place swims into her vision, she doubles over, gasping for air, clutching at her throat. Malfoy's cold hands grasp her shoulders and roughly tip her chin up. "Granger," he says calmly, "Granger, look at me."
"I didn't-you had no right!" She shoves him away. "You-!" Then she is saying a jumbled mess of words that don't quite make sense to either of them, a mix of incoherent, panic-stricken thoughts that are mangled upon verbalisation.
"I didn't realise," is all he says, and she isn't exactly sure why, but she feels as if this is an apology of sorts. A rather strange and roundabout one, but this is all she can expect from him.
When her breathing settles, she looks at him. His composure calms her own. She thinks of her last thoughts, of his potential betrayal, and even though he appears completely at peace, she knows he heard her thoughts. She knows.
"Okay. I'm sor-I'm okay. I was…unprepared."
"You're never going to be prepared in the battlefield, Granger." One eyebrow lifts, as if asking her if she's really that naïve. A small scowl twists her lips.
"Let's try it again."
"Gra-?"
"I'm fine. Again."
.
He spends most of his time with her, now. She's gotten used to his presence as he has with her, although he never fails to slip in the fact that she needed help from him in a conversation or two.
But she can't get it right. She can't get it right and she's Hermione Granger and she never fails. Cannot fail. It is utterly impossible, unacceptable.
"Damn it, Granger," he growls, her own frustration creeping into his. "How hard is it to clear your mind?"
"Look, if this is so easy, I'd like to see you try!" Bad move, she immediately thinks when she sees his scowl dissolve into a light smirk. She talks before he can, "I'll try harder! Just--just give me some room to breathe."
"You're already trying hard enough." Malfoy frowns. Then his expression changes, eyes clear. His movements become animated, and he grabs his wand out of his pocket once more. He rolls it in between his hands. "Picture a white room. Just a white room. Completely blank. Cast all your thoughts, emotions, everything into it. Then hide it."
"A white…?" Her eyebrows raise. But she knows this tactic-knows this learning style.
"Just do it," he snaps, then without warning, he casts the spell. With all the training they've been through, he's improved with his Legilimency as well. It's a benefit for him. She only wishes that she would learn as quickly as he.
She jerks back, startled. He's cast it nonverbally so many times at her that she's gotten used to it, and she readily quells her initial surprise.
A blank room. Her surprise splatters yellow onto the walls. Her thoughts flow and form a box that defies gravity. It floats there, in that blank room, and she shoves all her worries and fears and emotions and thoughts into it and becomes completely, blissfully, blank. Malfoy's puzzlement seeps into her own mind. His probing becomes harder until he's jabbing harshly, almost to the point of pain, but-but he can't find her. Hermione manages to hold back her grin for all of two minutes before it bursts forward.
When she drifts back into the reality (war and blood and fighting and death), she carries her euphoria with her, and for this moment, she lives in the present. It seems to be contagious-Malfoy's lips quirk into a semblance of a grin for perhaps half a second before he smothers it.
"You smiled," she points out unnecessarily.
He grimaces, "Has all the Legilimency gone to your head, Granger? Figured you'd go loony sooner rather than later."
She grins widely at him. He stares. Then his lips twitch, and a burst of laughter-pure, genuine, derision-free laughter-pushes out of his mouth. "You look like a deranged psycho."
"Haha," she says dryly, but then she's laughing too, because she finally did it. She only wishes she has a camera to capture the moment because she's utterly convinced that she will never see him like this again, but her memories are enough.
.
She blows off training with Malfoy to go visit Ron in the hospital.
He's stabilised (finally finally thank God thank you thank you) and he's conscious, and she needs to see him. This is something Malfoy cannot understand, will never understand. Ron is her best friend and maybe she has abandonment issues, but if anyone's to blame for that, it's-
(she's just tired. tired of everything, the war, of fighting. ron is okay and it gives her hope and she so desperately wants him to understand that.)
She has a big row with Malfoy that night. He accuses her of not having priorities and not caring and all these ridiculous things, and it is so, so easy for her to retaliate so she does, shouting equally terrible and silly comments back at him. She will not apologise this time (not that she's ever said sorry to him).
.
Hermione gnaws at her lip.
Malfoy passes her without a second glance.
She doesn't speak to him for days.
.
She cuts her hair one night, after it someone used it to grab hold of her on one of the missions. Long hair, it seems, is a luxury she'd never considered before. It's just an inch, not very much, but it's still shorter and it's a change.
Sometimes, people need change.
.
Malfoy sits across from her during breakfast. It's early morning, and everyone is either asleep our out somewhere. He just sits, pours some cereal, and eats. Doesn't talk to her or anything, despite her blatant staring.
He has not spoken to her in weeks. (she doesn't even remember what they were fighting about.)
"Can you…" her voice is raspy, so she clears her throat, "can you pass the milk?"
Wordlessly, he pushes it across the table. Her fingers touch his, but he doesn't move his hand away. (maybe this a minor victory, that he had come to her first instead of the other way around. but she forces herself to stop thinking that way, because that would surely only spark another fight.)
"Thank you," she says quietly, and resumes eating.
.
"I think you learn better by visualising something. In pictures."
He's back to normal with her, or whatever their usual behaviour with each other is. After days of suffocating tension and cold shoulders, she isn't sure how to be with him anymore, or what normal is with them. Because to her, normal-normal is him fighting with her, about accusations and history, about books, about spells, about duels, about them.
"Okay," she says uncertainly, motioning for him to continue.
"We have to move onto memories."
…And this is where she halts. Stares at him. She knows that her distrust is written all over her expression. She can see it from the way he tenses, feel the discomfort growing between them again. He is Malfoy and they have-something, but it is not to the point where she trusts him with her past.
"Granger," he says quietly. "You knew we would get to this point eventually. You've already mastered thought and emotion."
"I know, but-"
"And you knew what you were going into by asking me about this."
"Malfoy, I-"
"Because we didn't get this far for you to back out-"
"-not backing out-"
"-waste of my time-"
"I'm not, but you're going to be looking at my memories and-"
"Not if you do it correctly-"
"-I just-"
"You haven't even listened to what I'm suggesting-"
"I don't trust you!"
The words ignite, fizzle, and die in between them, but they'd done their damage. Hermione freezes. Malfoy freezes. She watches his expression shift with an increasing sense of dread twisting her insides. They are words she should have never, ever said. They aren't entirely true, but it is the reason she cannot let him delve in deeper. She doesn't trust him, and maybe she never will. She doesn't know.
"Choose."
Whatever she's expecting from him, it isn't that. She blinks at him. His face is completely closed off, now, and she has a little tinge of regret-but impatience skitters in his eyes and she says, "What?"
"Choose which memories you want to show and I'll only try to see those."
"Malfoy-"
"You didn't let me finish," the growing aggravation in his voice is surely because of her, and she flushes. "As I was saying earlier, you'll have an easier time with Occlumency if you visualise. Like the white room. But this time, lock all your memories in a hallway. Behind a door. Hide the key, so that only you know where it is. Make the rooms in chronological order or randomise them, I don't care. The most important thing is to lock or hide all of them."
"But how will I 'choose' a memory?"
He gives her a look that's so familiar, so light, it makes her relax just a little. "You're smart, Granger, figure it out."
She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. In her mind, she constructs a never-ending hallway with a pattern of memories behind closed doors that only she knows. They are the doors to her bedroom when she was a child, her parents doorway, the entrance to her wooden fort--things only she will recognise. Light surrounds her, and then he is there, poking and prodding and digging deep into her mind.
In her hallway of white, she paints three doors red.
Immediately, she feels his presence drawn towards them. She fights back against him as push turns to shove. Visualise, Granger, she hears, and she isn't sure if she's just imagining his voice in her head or not.
A padlock replaces the flimsy one on the red door. She begins constructing a more elaborate lock when he suddenly breaks through, and they are both delved into the past: Hermione talking with Harry and Ron about their suspicions of Malfoy being a Death Eater, and her doubts that he is; then her noticing his sickly pallor back in sixth year; memory after memory of that final year of school.
As soon as they fade (she didn't bother blurring or trying to distort it; she was so surprised at the jolt of magic) he draws back sharply. They are both breathing hard when they go back to reality; he from the effort of breaking in, and she from the effort of keeping him out. He stares at her for the longest time. "Why didn't you try to keep me out?"
"I-" she runs a hand through her tangled mess of curls, "I don't know."
She honestly doesn't.
.
The next day, she paints three more doors red, and puts all the effort turning it into a jail of sorts.
He breaks through all of them, but she blurs her memories. She's getting good at that. She works on it until he's seen and experienced the highlights of her early Hogwarts years, laughing inappropriately at all the parts he finds funny and smirking at her for the rest of it. He never admits to her that he is maybe a little impressed at her Polyjuice potion in second year, but when he sees her unfortunate transformation into a cat, of all things, he is no longer impressed and is instead incredibly amused.
Months later, when her hair has grown longer and the war is teetering on the edge, she will paint all her doors red.
hermione granger, draco/hermione
it's a matter of pride, of dignity, and painting doors red.
The world ignites.
Or at least, this is what it feels like to her. White light pours into her vision and her eyes sting, as if a million spotlights have shined directly into them. Distantly, she is aware (-constant vigilance constant vigilance constant-) of gravity pulling her backwards, of her name scissoring through the thick fog, but it is not enough to pull her through. There are flashes of colour, a rainbow of memories, and someone is screaming-someone, maybe it's her, but she isn't sure; she feels as if someone is hammering a thousand nails into her skull and it hurts, it hurts and she cannot do anything.
Then, there is her father, suspended in the air, glass shattering everywhere through her first accidental use of magic; as a child, isolated from all her other classmates-fast forward-meeting Ron and Harry; getting sorted into Gryffindor; punching Malfoy-fast forward-kissing Ron for the first time; dancing with Harry; returning to the Order-
"No!"
But she cannot keep the person out, whoever is performing Legilimency on her, and so she works quickly to try to blur the faces and the words because she cannot give away where their safe house is. Suddenly, the pain disappears. All of it. All that's left is a dull, throbbing ache, and when she opens her eyes, she can see a familiar blond-haired figure barking orders.
Hermione tries to speak, but she finds that her voice is locked, and she trembles so violently that her fingers can no longer grip her wand.
Malfoy turns, then. He seems to assess her condition in the span of two seconds before placing his hands under her arms and lifting her up. She stares. His expression is unreadable. Hermione is handed off to someone, and then her stomach twists and coils in the familiar feeling of apparition.
The white walls of St. Mungo's glare at her.
.
"What happened?" she demands harshly, once she wakes again. Ginny is sitting across from her. Harry is away searching for Horcruxes and Ron is out on another mission. The others, Hermione hasn't a clue where they are, and the fear of the unknown creeps into her mind.
"They had a Legilimens with them," Ginny says in a rehearsed tone, as if reciting this verbatim, "They were here to attempt to get more information on the Order, and once they saw you, well, they went for you immediately. Goldstein noticed and informed Malfoy of what he saw, and he tried to intercept, so the spell was botched up-which is probably why it hurt and its effects lasted so long. Then the caster was hexed, which was when you-"
Arthur Weasley enters the room. Ginny breaks off, staring at her father, at his sunken eyes and pale pallor. Hermione knows that their family is scattered all over the place, now. There are no more cozy meals at the Burrow, no more parties and songs and laughter. Not when there is a war outside.
"Hermione, we need-" he pauses and seems to rethink his words, because he starts over, "I am very glad to see that you are alright, but it's of the utmost urgency that we know what the Legilimens extracted from you."
"Dad," Ginny begins, darting a worried look at Hermione, but the latter smiles tiredly at the young girl.
"I'm fine, and they didn't find anything," but she thinks of how they were so, so close to knowing the location of one of the safe houses that her expression flickers. Arthur notices instantly.
"Hermione."
She is quiet when she says, "They were-close, to finding the location of one of the safe houses." At his expression, she hurriedly adds, "But they didn't! I did something, I'm not sure what, but I know they didn't get any important information."
"Are you-"
"One hundred per cent."
Arthur looks at her calculatingly. Then he relents, sighing heavily. "You'll have to write up a report to Moody later."
"Yes, of course."
He leaves quickly afterwards, but not without a few words to his daughter and a quick hug. Hermione looks at Ginny, whose eyes are rimmed red but rage brightly with suppressed fire. "Thank you."
Ginny nods at Hermione but says nothing else, seeming at a loss. Hermione finds it a little sad, how they used to be able to talk about everything and anything, but now, they are so far apart and Ginny has become distant and unfamiliar, filled with hatred that no person should know.
"You'll be released later on today, I'm told," Ginny says uncomfortably. Then, hesitatingly, she touches Hermione's hand. "You're welcome."
.
She has five textbooks, each with more than eight hundred words, on the topic of Legilimency and Occlumency. She is in the middle of hi-lighting one of them when someone approaches; when she looks up, she sees that it's Malfoy, walking by her with all the arrogance and bigotry that a man like him possesses. (she will admit that he has been acting-civil, lately, although she will never say it aloud.)
Ever since he'd arrived at the Order, he'd been forced to act as such. One misstep and he was gone.
His footsteps slow just as he passes her. Then he halts entirely, and the weight of his gaze is far too heavy for her to ignore him. Hermione tears her eyes away from the book, narrowing her eyes at him, "What, Malfoy?"
His lips stretch into a thin line at her tone of voice. "Do you really think you can learn how to be an Occlumens by reading about it?"
"I'll have you know that I learned how to brew Polyjuice potion in second year by reading about it," she replies scathingly.
"I'm sure you did," he says dryly. He sits on the arm of the nearby chair, arms folded together. "But that's different, Granger. That's a potion. Spells-especially ones like these-are particularly difficult to learn without practical means."
"And I suppose you know all about it, do you-?"
"Yes, in fact, I do. Or at least, more than you." He casts a glance at the textbooks and the hi-lighter in her fingers, and his voice holds just a little more derision when he speaks again. "Definitely more than you." She stares and barely refrains from openly gaping, because she did not expect this answer. He looks smugly at her. All that's missing is a little hair flip to accentuate it.
Her eyes narrow. "I don't believe you."
"Of course you don't, Granger. But," he crooks a long, pale finger in the direction of her books, "you aren't going to get very far without practising it."
"And what do you recommend, Malfoy? Casting the spell at a mirror and doing it on myself? Congratulations, you've managed to be of no help at all!"
With that, she slams the book shut and storms out with all the determination and flair she can muster.
.
Early morning and there is already screaming.
It takes her a moment to process what kind of screaming it is; she goes through all the possibilities before realising that some sort of fight is happening downstairs. There is only one person doing all the yelling, and in her bleary, half-asleep state of mind, she can only discern the words Malfoy and Slytherin and a string of curse words, both Muggle and Wizarding. Not everyone had accepted him, after all. If she strains, she can hear Malfoy's quiet, icy voice, cutting through the air, tossing words like Gryffindor and choices and it never, ever seems to end.
Seamus raises his voice louder.
.
She doesn't like Draco Malfoy.
He's-annoying. She doesn't know how else to describe it. He's always there, and she hasn't a clue how to deal with it. He is annoying and he is racist and he hates her. He hates her, and this is the one thing about him that she is absolutely sure of. (but he hasn't called her that word in the longest time. is that a measure of his hate?) His hatred-or at least, constant irritation with her-is a constant, one that she holds to in this world of variables.
He is intimidating. This is another thing she'll never admit to him, but he is. He will raise his voice and he will lower it, but when he is angry you will listen because you can't do anything but listen. Hermione tramples over this after the first few fights, though-instead, she retaliates and lashes back as quickly as possible.
"In case you haven't forgotten what you did," the textbook falls to the floor with a thud, "you helped kill-"
(she would like to say that she has forgiven him for what he's done. that she does not blame him or hold a grudge, not anymore. but when she thinks of all the people crammed into the tiny safe house, her parents without their memories in a distant country, all the people who've died, and of hogwarts, the place she called her second home, getting invaded by death eaters--she can't. she can't. she can't be forgiving, she can't be humble, she can't be the kind of person she wants to be.)
"Don't talk about what happened like you know the whole story," he whips back, "And stop acting like a frigging saint, it's revolting." She starts to speak again (denialdenialdenial), but he continues, glaring at her with enough intensity to bring her to her knees. She keeps standing. "But of course, perfect little Granger can't hear anything, what with your pedestal raised so fucking high."
And it continues.
.
"Ron, just do it," she says. Harry isn't here and there isn't anyone else she trusts more aside from Ron, and so she turns to him. He looks uncertainly at her. The expression is so familiar that she feels as if she's back at Hogwarts, teaching them a new spell (it's Levi-O-sa, not Levio-SAR)-
"You sure? You know, maybe you should get someone else to do this."
"Ron."
"Fine, fine… Leg-legilimens!"
It nearly works. She can feel Ron's magic probing around her head, pushing uncomfortably, trying to uncover her thoughts, her emotions, her memories. But he is not a skilled Legilimens, and so the closest he comes to are her feelings, so she works on suppressing those instead. Hermione tries to empty herself, her mind, her thoughts, but Malfoy breaks through the haze: "You aren't actually getting the Weasel to help you?"
Her frustration bursts. Ron yelps at the unexpected flare of emotion, ends the connection accidentally, and they are both brought back into the present. Malfoy sneers down at the two of them. Ron's face blooms red, and Hermione knows that her face must have a similar tinge. "Sod off, Malfoy," Ron says coldly.
Malfoy ignores him. "Granger, really? You're resorting to him?"
"It worked," she snarls, "until you came around and I heard your voice. It's like hearing nails scratching against a chalkboard!"
He either doesn't know what she means or he simply chooses to ignore her. "Then you failed," he states, "you have to clear your mind, Granger."
"It was her first time!" Ron says in her defense, and she is grateful, but-but she lingers on the word failed, just like he knows she would. She scowls in his direction.
"Again, Ron!" she snaps.
"What-?"
"Don't let Malfoy," she spits his name as if she'd said Voldemort, "distract you."
"I-" a frustrated sigh, "Legilimens."
Blissful, peaceful, silence.
Then:
"…Granger. Graaanger. Granger. Grangeeeer."
An aggravated noise.
"What, Malfoy?"
He smirks.
"You failed again."
.
She swallows red.
Their mission is completely ruined, and there is red, red everywhere, painted on the walls, on the ground. It coats her skin and while she's standing in the middle of the cacophony of shouts and spells and bursts of light, all that she can think about is how she will never be able to wash the blood off her hands. (maybe this is a symbolic thing. she tries to stop thinking before she automatically analyses it, even though she knows what it means, even though she cannot stop.)
"Legilimens!" someone yells. From her textbooks and trustworthy facts, she knows that this means that the caster is not powerful enough to do it nonverbally. But it still does it all the same, and she lunges in some random direction, hoping to dodge it-
It isn't directed at her, but at Malfoy, and she sees him notice at the very last moment-too late, his knees fold, and it is very unlike him to be distracted. "Malfoy!" she shouts, trying to jolt him out of it. She stumbles over to him, slapping her palms against his pale cheeks, staining them with her dirty, dirty blood. The glazed look in his eyes doesn't disappear and she begins muttering nonsensical words and she doesn't know what to do and she is Hermione Granger and she has to know what to do--because this is who she is.
Then suddenly, she knows. Hermione whirls around and casts a Stupefy at the same time an Avada Kedavra leaves Malfoy's lips; it scares her so much her hand jerks and she misses by an inch. The caster crumples to the ground, dying painlessly surrounded by green light.
She stares at Malfoy, the fury in his grey eyes, and nearly flinches at the utter loathing in them. She has questions for him (what did the Legilimens see in your mind?) but there is (always) a war going on around them, and it is not the time.
Hermione turns and casts a hex at another Death Eater.
.
"Malfoy," she begins, and before she even finishes saying his name, he's already saying, "No."
Hermione blinks, "What?"
He looks up from the book he's reading, peering up at her. "No," he repeats simply.
"I-you haven't even heard what I've said! You don't even know if I'm asking a question."
"No?" It isn't an answer, this time. He closes the book, but keeps his thumb in place. "Let me guess, then. You want to know how I snapped out of it." She doesn't answer. He nearly snorts. "Predictable, Granger."
Her teeth bite down on her lip. She gnaws at it, staring at him. Debating. She thinks of asking-asking for help. She knows that he's an Occlumens; at least, after that fight she knew for sure. But it hadn't even been a full half minute and he'd been able to block out the Legilimens and overcome him.
This is a skill she wants-no, needs-to learn.
They sit in silence.
.
It's been months and she hasn't heard from Harry. Despite her constant pestering, nobody will tell her anything. They do not trust her with such information, especially after the Legilimens incident. It irritates her to no end.
And Ron-Ron arrives back from another mission all beaten and bloodied and there is this big, gaping wound in his chest, and the first thing Hermione does is throw up on the floor. She can't handle it if Ron leaves, not for good. He can't leave to a place where she cannot follow. Not another one of her boys.
She watches him being rushed to St. Mungo's with an increasing feeling of dread that coils in her stomach. Ginny Apparates after them, all teary-eyed and shaky and she really isn't fit to do such a thing, but Hermione doesn't stop her because it's her brother and Ginny needs to be with him.
Later, she will bring cleaning supplies for the mess she made, and Cho Chang will approach her.
"Do you need help?" she will say, hesitantly, softly, because they do not know each other, but they know of each other.
Hermione will stare at her and try to answer. Yes, she will think after a moment, but for an entirely different reason. It will take her even longer to voice her confirmation aloud.
.
"I need help."
"Just realised that now, did you?" He doesn't look up. He's always reading, sometimes even more than her.
Hermione bites back a retort. "Malfoy," a pleading tone creeps into her voice and she almost hates herself for it, but it makes him look at her. She meets his gaze calmly, steadily, unwavering. His expression is contemplative.
Then he reaches for his wand, and with a flick of his wrist- "Legilimens!"
She's caught completely off-guard. Immediately, he grasps onto her emotions. She feels his magic tug at her and she gasps-whether it's in her mind or out loud or both, she isn't sure. Quelling her shock, she tries to empty herself, like the books said. Empty herself and clear her mind. He begins to rifle through her thoughts, and she can feel his amusement in her mind. It's the strangest thing, but it isn't uncomfortable.
But he delves further and reaches for her memories.
This is where her panic starts. His magic feels like a worm wriggling in her brain and she can't get it out. She is so very vulnerable before him and it scares her more than she initially realised. Admittedly, she is the one who asked him for help, but she never thought-hasn't thought-of the trust factor in the equation. She's forgotten the reason why she'd only wanted Ron to cast the spell on her in the first place, and even then she was uncomfortable opening herself up to him. Now, opening herself in all her entirety to Malfoy, of all people--
Hermione doesn't bother trying to suppress anything. Get out! Stop it now! she thinks desperately. Suddenly she thinks of possibilities. Betrayal and confidential information and she full out panics, because what if Malfoy is a traitor, what if he tries to get information on Harry, whatifwhatifwhatif.
His presence disappears from her mind. As soon as the living room of Grimmauld Place swims into her vision, she doubles over, gasping for air, clutching at her throat. Malfoy's cold hands grasp her shoulders and roughly tip her chin up. "Granger," he says calmly, "Granger, look at me."
"I didn't-you had no right!" She shoves him away. "You-!" Then she is saying a jumbled mess of words that don't quite make sense to either of them, a mix of incoherent, panic-stricken thoughts that are mangled upon verbalisation.
"I didn't realise," is all he says, and she isn't exactly sure why, but she feels as if this is an apology of sorts. A rather strange and roundabout one, but this is all she can expect from him.
When her breathing settles, she looks at him. His composure calms her own. She thinks of her last thoughts, of his potential betrayal, and even though he appears completely at peace, she knows he heard her thoughts. She knows.
"Okay. I'm sor-I'm okay. I was…unprepared."
"You're never going to be prepared in the battlefield, Granger." One eyebrow lifts, as if asking her if she's really that naïve. A small scowl twists her lips.
"Let's try it again."
"Gra-?"
"I'm fine. Again."
.
He spends most of his time with her, now. She's gotten used to his presence as he has with her, although he never fails to slip in the fact that she needed help from him in a conversation or two.
But she can't get it right. She can't get it right and she's Hermione Granger and she never fails. Cannot fail. It is utterly impossible, unacceptable.
"Damn it, Granger," he growls, her own frustration creeping into his. "How hard is it to clear your mind?"
"Look, if this is so easy, I'd like to see you try!" Bad move, she immediately thinks when she sees his scowl dissolve into a light smirk. She talks before he can, "I'll try harder! Just--just give me some room to breathe."
"You're already trying hard enough." Malfoy frowns. Then his expression changes, eyes clear. His movements become animated, and he grabs his wand out of his pocket once more. He rolls it in between his hands. "Picture a white room. Just a white room. Completely blank. Cast all your thoughts, emotions, everything into it. Then hide it."
"A white…?" Her eyebrows raise. But she knows this tactic-knows this learning style.
"Just do it," he snaps, then without warning, he casts the spell. With all the training they've been through, he's improved with his Legilimency as well. It's a benefit for him. She only wishes that she would learn as quickly as he.
She jerks back, startled. He's cast it nonverbally so many times at her that she's gotten used to it, and she readily quells her initial surprise.
A blank room. Her surprise splatters yellow onto the walls. Her thoughts flow and form a box that defies gravity. It floats there, in that blank room, and she shoves all her worries and fears and emotions and thoughts into it and becomes completely, blissfully, blank. Malfoy's puzzlement seeps into her own mind. His probing becomes harder until he's jabbing harshly, almost to the point of pain, but-but he can't find her. Hermione manages to hold back her grin for all of two minutes before it bursts forward.
When she drifts back into the reality (war and blood and fighting and death), she carries her euphoria with her, and for this moment, she lives in the present. It seems to be contagious-Malfoy's lips quirk into a semblance of a grin for perhaps half a second before he smothers it.
"You smiled," she points out unnecessarily.
He grimaces, "Has all the Legilimency gone to your head, Granger? Figured you'd go loony sooner rather than later."
She grins widely at him. He stares. Then his lips twitch, and a burst of laughter-pure, genuine, derision-free laughter-pushes out of his mouth. "You look like a deranged psycho."
"Haha," she says dryly, but then she's laughing too, because she finally did it. She only wishes she has a camera to capture the moment because she's utterly convinced that she will never see him like this again, but her memories are enough.
.
She blows off training with Malfoy to go visit Ron in the hospital.
He's stabilised (finally finally thank God thank you thank you) and he's conscious, and she needs to see him. This is something Malfoy cannot understand, will never understand. Ron is her best friend and maybe she has abandonment issues, but if anyone's to blame for that, it's-
(she's just tired. tired of everything, the war, of fighting. ron is okay and it gives her hope and she so desperately wants him to understand that.)
She has a big row with Malfoy that night. He accuses her of not having priorities and not caring and all these ridiculous things, and it is so, so easy for her to retaliate so she does, shouting equally terrible and silly comments back at him. She will not apologise this time (not that she's ever said sorry to him).
.
Hermione gnaws at her lip.
Malfoy passes her without a second glance.
She doesn't speak to him for days.
.
She cuts her hair one night, after it someone used it to grab hold of her on one of the missions. Long hair, it seems, is a luxury she'd never considered before. It's just an inch, not very much, but it's still shorter and it's a change.
Sometimes, people need change.
.
Malfoy sits across from her during breakfast. It's early morning, and everyone is either asleep our out somewhere. He just sits, pours some cereal, and eats. Doesn't talk to her or anything, despite her blatant staring.
He has not spoken to her in weeks. (she doesn't even remember what they were fighting about.)
"Can you…" her voice is raspy, so she clears her throat, "can you pass the milk?"
Wordlessly, he pushes it across the table. Her fingers touch his, but he doesn't move his hand away. (maybe this a minor victory, that he had come to her first instead of the other way around. but she forces herself to stop thinking that way, because that would surely only spark another fight.)
"Thank you," she says quietly, and resumes eating.
.
"I think you learn better by visualising something. In pictures."
He's back to normal with her, or whatever their usual behaviour with each other is. After days of suffocating tension and cold shoulders, she isn't sure how to be with him anymore, or what normal is with them. Because to her, normal-normal is him fighting with her, about accusations and history, about books, about spells, about duels, about them.
"Okay," she says uncertainly, motioning for him to continue.
"We have to move onto memories."
…And this is where she halts. Stares at him. She knows that her distrust is written all over her expression. She can see it from the way he tenses, feel the discomfort growing between them again. He is Malfoy and they have-something, but it is not to the point where she trusts him with her past.
"Granger," he says quietly. "You knew we would get to this point eventually. You've already mastered thought and emotion."
"I know, but-"
"And you knew what you were going into by asking me about this."
"Malfoy, I-"
"Because we didn't get this far for you to back out-"
"-not backing out-"
"-waste of my time-"
"I'm not, but you're going to be looking at my memories and-"
"Not if you do it correctly-"
"-I just-"
"You haven't even listened to what I'm suggesting-"
"I don't trust you!"
The words ignite, fizzle, and die in between them, but they'd done their damage. Hermione freezes. Malfoy freezes. She watches his expression shift with an increasing sense of dread twisting her insides. They are words she should have never, ever said. They aren't entirely true, but it is the reason she cannot let him delve in deeper. She doesn't trust him, and maybe she never will. She doesn't know.
"Choose."
Whatever she's expecting from him, it isn't that. She blinks at him. His face is completely closed off, now, and she has a little tinge of regret-but impatience skitters in his eyes and she says, "What?"
"Choose which memories you want to show and I'll only try to see those."
"Malfoy-"
"You didn't let me finish," the growing aggravation in his voice is surely because of her, and she flushes. "As I was saying earlier, you'll have an easier time with Occlumency if you visualise. Like the white room. But this time, lock all your memories in a hallway. Behind a door. Hide the key, so that only you know where it is. Make the rooms in chronological order or randomise them, I don't care. The most important thing is to lock or hide all of them."
"But how will I 'choose' a memory?"
He gives her a look that's so familiar, so light, it makes her relax just a little. "You're smart, Granger, figure it out."
She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. In her mind, she constructs a never-ending hallway with a pattern of memories behind closed doors that only she knows. They are the doors to her bedroom when she was a child, her parents doorway, the entrance to her wooden fort--things only she will recognise. Light surrounds her, and then he is there, poking and prodding and digging deep into her mind.
In her hallway of white, she paints three doors red.
Immediately, she feels his presence drawn towards them. She fights back against him as push turns to shove. Visualise, Granger, she hears, and she isn't sure if she's just imagining his voice in her head or not.
A padlock replaces the flimsy one on the red door. She begins constructing a more elaborate lock when he suddenly breaks through, and they are both delved into the past: Hermione talking with Harry and Ron about their suspicions of Malfoy being a Death Eater, and her doubts that he is; then her noticing his sickly pallor back in sixth year; memory after memory of that final year of school.
As soon as they fade (she didn't bother blurring or trying to distort it; she was so surprised at the jolt of magic) he draws back sharply. They are both breathing hard when they go back to reality; he from the effort of breaking in, and she from the effort of keeping him out. He stares at her for the longest time. "Why didn't you try to keep me out?"
"I-" she runs a hand through her tangled mess of curls, "I don't know."
She honestly doesn't.
.
The next day, she paints three more doors red, and puts all the effort turning it into a jail of sorts.
He breaks through all of them, but she blurs her memories. She's getting good at that. She works on it until he's seen and experienced the highlights of her early Hogwarts years, laughing inappropriately at all the parts he finds funny and smirking at her for the rest of it. He never admits to her that he is maybe a little impressed at her Polyjuice potion in second year, but when he sees her unfortunate transformation into a cat, of all things, he is no longer impressed and is instead incredibly amused.
Months later, when her hair has grown longer and the war is teetering on the edge, she will paint all her doors red.