Hermione's eyes are open wide tonight, and for the first half of the evening, she can't decide why. All around her are people enjoying themselves, talking amongst themselves; there's no singular reason why she should feel melancholy. And yet, nevertheless, she finds her heart still as though caught in a vice as she stares up at the night sky, impossibly black, and watches the first of the fireworks burst above her, all a wash of sparks and color. It's then that she realizes what she yearns for, and what remains beyond her reach. A pair of voices laughing, the sound echoing through the halls, and the sound of fabric whipping through air. Of a frantic voice, yelling for order.
Suddenly, she finds herself hard-pressed not to let out a tear or two, and in her search for anything else to cling to, her gaze falls upon a boy at her side.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she asks, trying to be friendly, even as she crosses her arms tightly over her chest.
Alex knows a little something about faking it. About having to reign in emotions - although his were hardly ever sadness in the same way that other people felt it. Mostly, anger or fear clouded his head and threatened to take over, and that's when he had to beat it back. So while he isn't quite able to guess when it comes to the girl next to him, there's something innate that registers that something's wrong. Tiny details that would maybe have slipped past someone else, someone who didn't have a job where the tiniest bits of information could mean life or death. His uncle had trained him to be observant, and it had stuck with him. People tell a story, Ian had said. Even if they don't know it
( ... )
She lets out a soft sigh, deciding that there isn't really a point in trying to hide the emotion anymore, not when it's been brought to the surface, so clear for everyone to see. Pressing her lips together, she nods, though her expression is still soft. Some might think it vulnerable, even. But Hermione knows herself well enough in times like these, knows that trying to bury her emotions would only make things worse in the long run. And that, in its own way, there's something strong about owning up to a weakness and standing taller for it.
"Yes," she nods, the same shy smile on her face. "Sorry, I'm just... a little emotional, I suppose. The fireworks reminded me of home, and I'll be the first to admit that I miss it. Not that the island isn't charming in its own way, at times, but." Exhaling slightly, she turns towards him, resting her chin in the palm of her hand.
"Thank you for asking, though. I don't... think we've met?"
Burying his emotions is literally the only way that Alex is able to cope with all of the things that are thrown his way on a regular basis. It allows him to deny that anything's wrong, which in turn is usually enough for him to maintain key relationships. Jack had thought that going on missions for MI6 was doing something inside of his head - it was, but Alex figured that it wouldn't affect him if he didn't let it. So he wouldn't. It was as simple as that, in his mind.
"Home is...England, right?" not that he means to bring up more unpleasant memories, but at least this way they have more common ground. Her accent was very clear, very proper, he'd noticed even from the few words she'd spoken.
Alex scrunches his bare toes in the sand, vaguely enjoying the cool grains against heavy callouses. "No, we haven't. Possibly because I only arrived five days ago."
"London," Hermione nods with a smile, glad that the two of them are at least from comparable worlds. She isn't naive enough to think that every version of England is the same, between all of the people who currently live on the island. But even having some spare details align between their lives is a comfort, knowing that his accent is in fact a British accent, and not some strange country from a parallel galaxy billions of miles away. "And for you... Chelsea, if my ear serves? It's been a while; before the island, I'd spent the greater part of the decade living around Scotland, actually. Though I don't have any complaints; absolutely beautiful, if you ever have the chance to visit
( ... )
It is nice to have people from home around. It serves to somewhat alleviate Alex's longing to see his old neighborhood, his old classmates again. Even if these worlds are slightly different, there's a commonality that almost soothes, even if it isn't very comparable. He nods his assent when she guesses correctly, knowing that he could probably talk about Chelsea all day if he had to. "I've been. Well, mostly just around the Scottish alps. I didn't really get to see too much of the cities there
( ... )
She feels no impulse to correct Alex on the implication made, that she lives anywhere near the cities of Scotland, and that she'd have any knowledge of what it's like to live there. Hogwarts itself was located in the mountains, nestled high enough that clouds often lingered by the tallest of their towers, but even on an island where few people had reason to care about an unreachable castle in the sky, still she felt that there were certain details best kept secret. If there was ever a day when she managed to find, at last, a means to tear from this world into her own, she doesn't want to give everyone a chance to find that safe haven. For all that peace reigns supreme on the island, Hermione knows that circumstances can so easily change, based on perceived need, based on perceived possibility
( ... )
Suddenly, she finds herself hard-pressed not to let out a tear or two, and in her search for anything else to cling to, her gaze falls upon a boy at her side.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she asks, trying to be friendly, even as she crosses her arms tightly over her chest.
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"Yes," she nods, the same shy smile on her face. "Sorry, I'm just... a little emotional, I suppose. The fireworks reminded me of home, and I'll be the first to admit that I miss it. Not that the island isn't charming in its own way, at times, but." Exhaling slightly, she turns towards him, resting her chin in the palm of her hand.
"Thank you for asking, though. I don't... think we've met?"
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"Home is...England, right?" not that he means to bring up more unpleasant memories, but at least this way they have more common ground. Her accent was very clear, very proper, he'd noticed even from the few words she'd spoken.
Alex scrunches his bare toes in the sand, vaguely enjoying the cool grains against heavy callouses. "No, we haven't. Possibly because I only arrived five days ago."
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