𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖋𝖙𝖍 𝖒𝖚𝖘𝖊 ⋆ hermione granger

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

           "Did you not notice my stores of Veritaserum, Laurent? One droplet and you'll spill all your secrets—"

          "That's illegal," says Sage. Her heart is pounding. "I'll snitch you out."

          "Everybody else is at the Tournament."

          Sage stands up. Her hands are shaking; she's genuinely afraid of the lengths this cruel man would go to put her through hell. "No they aren't, not everyone went."

          And, as she's backing away, Snape stepping towards her with a small flask in his hand, and as her back hits the door, a tear rolls down her cheek and the plant on the desk next to her shrivels and curls, turning black, the leaves falling onto the table. The wood of the door rots from the centre outward, the metal strips holding it together clattering to the floor. Snape stares at her, no expression other than shock on his sallow features, and Sage turns on her heel and bolts from the room.

          Sage hides out in the third floor girl's bathroom for the rest of the day. She found a book in her bag (It's Girl, Interrupted) so she sits and reads that by the sinks. She makes paper aeroplanes out of pages from a textbook she finds in one of the stalls. She has a chat to Moaning Myrtle.

          Then, a bushy head of hair comes through the doors and stares at her.

          "Hi," says the girl.

          Sage looks up at her, then back down at the doodles she's been inking onto her leg.

          "Hello," repeats Hermione, coming to sit down in front of Sage. "Harry got top points even though he turned up last."

          "That's nice," says Sage.

          "Where did you disappear off to?"

          Sage shrugs and turns the page of her book.

          "Erm, okay," says Hermione, unfolding her legs and crossing them again. She scratches a scab on her ankle. "Why are you being weird? I thought we were friends again?"

          "We smiled at each other," says Sage, eyebrows deepening. "I smile at lots of people I'm not friends with."

          "No you don't," says Hermione, which makes Sage snicker.

          "Fair," Sage replies.

          "I don't even understand why you're mad in the first place," continues Hermione. Sage considers leaving the bathroom. "You had a real go at me after the Yule Ball and I don't even know why! If you wanted to go with Viktor you should've just asked him!"

          Sage snorts, giggles, then starts to laugh really hard. It goes on for a few minutes, until her belly aches, and Hermione just watches.

          "I don't fancy Viktor," Sage says when she finally calms down. "Of course I don't fancy Viktor."

          "Then what's this all about!" Cries Hermione, throwing up her hands. "I don't understand, Sage!"

          Sage takes a deep breath. She looks down at her hands. "I— Hermione, I'm— I—"

          "What? What is it?"

          She can't do it. She can't tell her.

         Sage is a Shit Gryffindor.

          "I made a plant die and a door disintegrate earlier on," says Sage. Hermione looks at her. "Yeah. I was in Snape's classroom because I stole Gillyweed for Harry from his store room but I blamed it on the Fat Friar— oh, don't give me that stupid disapproving look, 'Mione— and he shouted at me and I cried and I made a plant die and a door disintegrate."

          "I mean, Harry made his aunt blow up when he was angry before, maybe that's what happened?"

          Sage frowns and fiddles with her fingernails. "Yeah. I suppose."

          "Are— are you okay?"

          "Yeah. I'm fine."

          "Are you?"

          "Yeah. I just want to know what's going on."

          "I can look in the library if you want?"

          Sage smiles. "That would be good."

          It's that night that Sage gets an explanation. The other girls are all asleep in the dorm, and Sage is too. Her limbs are still, her chest rises and falls slowly with each deep breath she takes. She tucked into bed in her favourite pyjamas, her feet have thick fluffy socks on them, and she's very much asleep.

          But her mind is awake, and it's somewhere else entirely.

          Sage is standing in a house.

          It's got deep brown walls and she isn't sure if it's the rotting wallpaper or something else staining it. The carpet is scuffed and worn down to the floorboards, and there's a table in the centre of the room. There's knife carvings all over it. Sage sees them as the same ones she was drawing on her legs earlier.

          There's a woman, beaming at her, from the corner of the room. It's the same woman as before; it's the same woman as always. Sage sits down on the table.

          "Hello," she says. The woman bares her teeth, they're yellow and red and make Sage feel sick.

          "Hello," says the woman. Her voice is hoarse and delighted. "Little Sophia."

          "You know me?"

          The woman grins, scratches her nest of hair, pulls out a deep black feather. "Of course I do." She hands the feather to Sage. "You're my little Sophia."

          "Your little Sophia?"

          "My little Sophia," agrees the woman.

          "And who are you?"

          The woman's auburn hair swishes as she turns on her heel, opens the window behind her, and in swoops a crow.

          No, not a crow.

          A raven.

          It's Conner.

          "Your bird," says the woman. "He is Conner, yes?"

          Sage nods and scratches the feathers at Conner's neck.

          "He is loyal."

          Sage looks up. "I know. But who are you?"

          The woman smiles. She blinks, and her eyes are a light hazel, green and brown instead of deep inky blue. "You can't save him."

          Sage feels a tug at her heart, like she's being pulled from the inside. "Who are you?" She repeats, an urgency to her voice.

          "He isn't yours to save."

          "Who are you?!" She's drifting away, Conner perched on her shoulder, the woman and the house moving further and further away from her. "Who are you?!"

          Sage wakes with a start, with three syllables resting on the tip of her tongue.

          "Morrigan," she says out loud, the word spilling over her tongue and filling her mouth with horror.

          "What?" mumbles Hermione, still half-asleep, but Sage has already bolted out of bed and to her desk, scrawling out the word in case she forgot it.

          But she knew she would never forget it.

          Not that word.

          Not ever in her life.

a/n: wooo sage is weird and hermione is distant and everything is slowly going to shit!!!!! plot progression!!!