Rating: PG-13

Archive: Ask me.

Please review.

(c) Madeleine Cynader 2000

For The World Is Hollow And I Have Touched The Sky

by *strange charm*
 
 
 

Hermione woke up slowly, her body growing less and less tolerant of the cold. It was still
dark, the first rays of sun only beginning to peek over the distant horizon. She sat up,
mumbling softly and cracking her jaw, trying to make her muscles function again. She sat
still for a few minutes, waiting for life to flood back into the empty shell her body seemed
to have become as she slept. Her eyes stayed closed, trance-like, as she woke up slowly,
absorbing everything around her as if through osmosis. She reached behind her gropingly,
pulling stray twigs and moss from her matted hair and collecting them in her lap. She
looked at the assortment of tree litter dully, her brain unable as of yet to make any kind of
logical connections. Suddenly, she was galvanized into action. She felt something crawling
through her once-more bushy hair, and screamed. Her voice grew louder exponentially as
her worst fear was realized – there was a spider in her hair. She grabbed it convulsively
and threw it from her, whimpering and breathing spasmodically.

Suddenly, she heard deep laughter from the forest floor behind her. She turned under the
thin blanket, and rested her elbows gently on Draco’s pale, lean chest. He wasn’t muscular,
but he had a wiry strength – Hermione knew only too well. She grinned slightly, remembering
the events of last night, and looked at something over his shoulder. He tilted his head, catching
her eyes, and stared into them quizzically for a second. Suddenly, his pale, pointed features
mellowed into a dimpled smile. His lips barely curved, but Hermione could see what very few
people caught in Draco – the immense laughter lurking in the depths of his intense blue eyes.

There was a lot hidden behind those eyes, she thought – just like an iceberg, keeping most
of its mass below the surface of the water. She didn’t have time to think what secrets
Draco’s eyes could hold, because she found herself pulled downwards by an inexorable
force. She lost herself in his insistent, but playful, embrace. She smiled blissfully and threw
herself into the kiss.

Thirty minutes later, a very rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed pair made their way back up to
Hogwarts Castle. They had found their clearing by chance, on a midnight stroll around the
edge of the Forest. Neither of them would have ventured within the forest – both of them
had had enough memorable experiences in there to last them several lifetimes – but the
outlying meadows were pleasant, and private.

Hermione couldn’t even remember why they had gone for a walk – he had found her in the
courtyard, and she had been crying. She couldn’t remember why, now – funny, she had
been devastated at the time. He had put his arm around her, and led her out to the meadow.
He made her tell him everything, and then he just sat with her and let her cry. She had
gotten  angry, then – not with him, though. She had wanted to hurt someone. And so she
seduced Draco. He had been in love with her for months, and she wasn’t above exploiting
an opportunity. They had known each other for seven years, and they had both matured a
lot from the prejudiced, know-it-all kids they had been.

Draco had changed a lot after his mother died – he was too loyal to say it outright, but
everyone knew Draco suspected Lucius of killing her. He probably had, everyone agreed,
but there was no proof of any kind. Hermione had occasionally had the nagging feeling
that Draco had pursued her only to hurt his father – but after last night, she knew it wasn’t
true.

Hermione had changed, too. After Harry gave his life to save her and the rest of Hogwarts
from Voldemort, she had looked at everything differently. She gave people second chances,
lost her dismissive and sometimes superior air – she learned to live life one day at a time,
and take what she could get.

Life was calm, these days – the threat of the Dark Lord vanquished forever, the prospect
of exams still months away. But some things were too calm. Hermione had liked the quiet
life as a child, but she was beginning to love the adrenaline rush, the feeling of pursuit – as
hunted or hunter. Maybe that was why she had let herself fall apart so much - maybe that
was why she and Ron had fought, again, last night.

Yes, that was why she was angry, and hurt, and hurtful. That was it. She had fought with
Ron again.

Hermione sighed heavily as the weight of knowledge settled back into her soul, spoiling her
carefree mood. Draco could feel the change, and looked at her, concerned. She smiled
facetiously. He knew she wasn’t being truthful, but he didn’t know what to do. He tightened
his slender arm around Hermione’s stocky shoulders, and they continued to walk up to the
school.

She and Ron had been fighting, on and off, for a year. The fights started for real six months
after Harry died, when Hermione got into a row with Ginny. Ron has stood stalwartly beside
Hermione, until he found out what she had done to provoke the fight – she had spread
vicious rumours that Colin, Ginny’s boyfriend, had been cheating on Ginny with a Ravenclaw
fourth-year. After that, Ron and Hermione weren’t friends. He continued to look out for her,
though – Hermione bragged nastily to her new friends that he was still carrying a torch for
her, after all these years. They fought every now and then, but eventually fear of Hermione’s
sarcastic wit and ascerbic remarks began to outweigh friendly concern. It was only when
Ron saw Hermione sneaking into the woods with a group of sinister-looking Slytherin boys
- when she was supposed to be in class – that they fought in earnest. She had said some very
cruel things, she remembered – but then, so had he.

The only problem was, all the things he had called her – delinquent, whore, power junkie – all
of them were true. She had said all of those things to herself. But the things she had said to
him were inexcusable.

Hermione shook her head almost convulsively, trying to regain her excuses and her self-defence.
<Well, he’s just jealous. I like my life, and just because I wasn’t born completely Muggle doesn’t
mean I don’t have the right to enjoy the better things in their lifestyle.> Oh, forget it. This is
hopeless.

“Draco?”

“Hmm?” He had been lost in thought. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Draco, have you ever had to hurt someone you loved, just because you thought they would be
better off without you in their life?”

Draco looked at her carefully, as if sizing her up. “Yes,” he admitted finally.

“What happened afterward?”

“Her soul died.”

Hermione didn’t quite know how to respond. “Your mother?” It was almost a whisper.

“Yes.” Draco’s eyes were vacant and distant. “Why? I mean, what did you do to her?”
<That sounds really accusatory, Hermione. Way to push him away. There you go again.>

Draco wasn’t offended, though. “When I was born, she was so happy. She’s a lot younger
than my father, you know – she only married him for his money, and he only married her
because she was beautiful. She was the perfect mother, coddling me and showing me off
to everyone. But my father didn’t want me to be a sweet little boy. He had been waiting
years for a son, and he wasn’t going to let my mother make a pet out of me.” He paused,
letting a little of the bitterness fall out of his voice before going on, more composed. “He
took me away from her, and started teaching me things himself – things he thought the heir
to the House of Malfoy needed to know. My mother was devastated. My birth was very
difficult, and she knew she couldn’t have any more children – and she could see what my
father was doing to me.

“Now that I look back, I know I should resent it, but he took so much away from me I can’t
even feel angry towards him. All I can feel is that I’m missing something.” He dropped his
arm from Hermione’s shoulders and picked up one of her slender hands, turning it over and
over in his own, as if fascinated. She shivered in the cool breeze, and he put his arm back
aroun her shoulders dutifully. He continued, never taking his eyes from the well-trodden dirt
path.

“By the time I was old enough to know that I was different from other children, it was too
late for me to go back. I had been made in my father’s own image, and there was no stopping
what I was going to become. It’s still too late.

“Instead of trying to push against him, trying to show my mother that I wanted to be with
her, wanted to be fussed over and treated like a proper child again, I threw myself into my
lessons with him. I treated my mother with the same air my father used on all his other
servants.” Hermione could almost taste the hatred in those last two words, acrid and bitter.

She could have been shocked, and had it been Ron, or Simon, or any other boy, she probably
would have acted either repulsed or pitifully cruel. But there was something in Draco’s story
that resonated deep within her, like a crystal bowl shattering in harmony with the song of a
fallen angel.

She stopped, and Draco turned to face her, bending down to look up into her face. He
started to ask if something was wrong, but stopped as he saw tears filling her eyes. He sat
down on the ground, and pulled her with him. She turned her body gracefully as she fell,
landing perfectly in his arms.

And these two spectral forms, these children cruelly aged by twists of fate, cried together,
and they were reborn.
 
 

FIN