Breath Mints / Battle Scars

Chapter 22: XXII

She feels like she hasn't taken a breath since she started. Gasps and gulps down air, tears streaming down her face. She drowns any future words with Firewhiskey and waits for Ginny to speak. She's been silent this whole time. Listening. Staring.

The sudden quiet is painful. Makes Hermione's fingers tremble.

Ginny sips her whiskey.

And then she asks, quietly and calmly as ever, "Who is Jackson Pollock?"

"Masterpiece Muggle splatter artist," Hermione murmurs around the rim of her cup, unsure what to make of this response.

Ginny nods as though committing it to memory. Sips more whiskey.

"Please say something."

She swallows, setting down her glass and starting to twirl the ends of her hair around her fingers. Never a good sign with Ginny. "You won't like what I have to say."

Hermione scoffs. Splutters. "I - I don't care. I don't. I knew that before I told you. I want to know what you think. What you really think."

Ginny sighs and leans forward on her elbows. "I think..." she pauses, sighs again, eyes flitting between each of Hermione's. "I think he's going to hurt you."

She nods, feeling shaky and neurotic. "He is. He has. But - I...I've hurt him, too. I'm not...I'm not powerless in this situation. I'm not scared. I can hurt him, too."

Ginny's eyes narrow. Not in anger, but rather introspectively. Like she's sizing her up. "Spoken like a true Slytherin," she says, and her gaze drops to the silver and green tie.

Hermione gives a nervous laugh. She can't read her. Isn't sure exactly how she means it.

"Speaking of which..." Ginny pulls out her wand. Casts a spell to fix her robes and glamours her neck in under ten seconds. She's always been quite impressive with her magic.

"Thank you," says Hermione quietly. She still can't tell what she's thinking. How she's feeling.

Ginny's poker face is quite impressive as well.

"Gin," she urges after another long silence. "Please."

"What?"

"Just say it. Whatever you're thinking. Say it."

Ginny finishes off her whiskey - leans her head on her hand. "'Mione, I...I don't really know what I can say to make you feel better. I hate him. I'm sorry, but I hate him and I think I'll always hate him. He's flesh and blood of the woman who murdered my brother. His father is the reason I -" She breaks off. Clears her throat, "First Year. He's the reason for what happened in First Year."

"I know," Hermione breathes, inwardly cursing herself. How could she have been so stupid and selfish not to consider Ginny and Tom Riddle's diary? How much more deeply this might affect her? She's not a neutral party. Not by a long shot.

But Ginny continues. "The way you talk about him, though...it worries me. It sounds as if you're very far gone, Hermione. You're very deep in this. What happens if you come to a point where you need to crawl your way out? Will you? Can you?"

Hermione huffs. Glances down. Away. "Probably not."

Ginny says nothing.

Slowly, the Three Broomsticks grows busier with the late morning crowd. Hermione watches her whiskey grow murkier by the second, clouding in the glass. She's swirling it around when Ginny speaks again.

"So...last night then?" She doesn't need to finish.

Hermione chews her lip, not looking up. Nods.

"Are you alright?"