Day: 1442; Hour: 8
Lavender has been staring at her for ten minutes now, and Hermione stabs her scrambled eggs with annoyance. "What?"
"Do you think we've made history?"
"What?" Hermione asks again, looking up.
She feels bad for sounding so annoyed, but the morning found her with little sleep and a horrible headache. She felt hungover despite that she couldn't even remember the last time she had drank alcohol. Justin and Seamus were mostly to blame, full out screaming at one another for the past twenty minutes about Quidditch of all possible things. Of course it wasn't really about Quidditch, just like how Draco opted for a shower instead of her yelling at him about pancakes ten minutes ago. In order to avoid the bigger issues, they were all concentrating on the smaller ones. It was called coping, and Hermione didn't think any of them could be at blame for that.
Except Justin and Seamus of course, because her head was pounding.
"What we've done. I mean, the war will...Harry will. Maybe Ron. But do you think we will be in there as well?" Lavender doesn't even pause long enough for Hermione to exhale before she's talking again. "I was just thinking about Hogwarts, and history classes. Reading the stories of dead people - I hated that."
"It isn't just stories about dead people, Lavender. History is made up of people who did great things...great good, or great evil, but great things that somehow shaped the world into what we know of it. It's important to know."
"Why? I mean, I just keep thinking... All of this. It's all just going to be in books that students are going to hate reading about, you know?"
"Then why do you care if your name is in it?"
"I don't know. Well...just, credit, you know? If they're going to talk about it, I think they should talk about every one of us."
Hermione scratched at her cuticle, her nails short and cracked. "Our sacrifices only matter to us, Lav. Everything that was lost here, they just can't put that all down. Even if they did, people wouldn't get it. Not like we do. That doesn't matter. We know what this was, and what we--"
"You just said it was import--"
"The outcome is important. The main events that led us to that outcome are important. For people to know that there was struggle, and to know that there were people that had to meet it, that's important. Lists of names aren't. I don't care if I'm a footnote or nothing at all, I know what I gave and it gave back, and that is enough for me."
"So you mean to say we're not important?"
"Not to history books, no. But it doesn't matter, don't you see that? History will remember us as the Order, and the Ministry, and the brave ones. History will remember us because it was us that sacrificed for that "important outcome". It doesn't matter if they list all of our names for people to skim over and just think about how long the damn list is. They will just know that it was that blob of a list that caused the events at the end of the chapter. But it was never about making history, Lavender. It was about changing the future."
"Well, they should care enough to read the list, and then maybe--" Lavender started, her face pinched in annoyance that grew sharper when laughter cut her off.
"Wasn't that you I heard bitching from the hall about hating to read a dead person's story at school?" Draco glowered at her, his thought that she was a hypocrite all over his face.
"What are you doing? You are getting a glass for that, right?" Hermione cut off Lavender's response, pointing at him and the open jug of orange juice grasped in his hand.
He raised an eyebrow and turned, sauntering away with both girls glaring at his back.
Day: 1442; Hour: 15
They find the building in ashes, wood still smoldering with the crawl of fire and smoke still darkening the sky. Tree branches bow out to them, weighed heavy with ash and the buds of coming spring. They couldn't help but wonder if they had known they were coming.
Day: 1442; Hour: 21
"It doesn't bother you?" Draco asks this question out of nowhere, and she jumps because she didn't even know he was in the room. She had been too busy staring at the jug of orange juice and wondering why he had put it back. Gross.
"What?" Then again, she doubts that she has room to talk about his germs.
"That Potter will be raved about in history as if he did the whole damn thing singlehandedly."
"He deserves it."
"We don't?"
She finally turns from the fridge, questions about jealousy on her tongue but she swallows them. She will not go there, because she doesn't think he deserves for her to. "Harry has lived his whole life with this as his destiny. He sacrificed a lot--"
"Yes, living with Weasley in some comfortable housing, having every Ministry and Order high-up with their heads shoved up his ass and--"
"Don't you dare take away from what he's gone through and has done. If Harry hadn't been able to kill Voldemort, we would have lost no matter what we-"
"And if we hadn't fought for years before that, Potter would have been dead along with--"
"Harry didn't have the choice like we did! He--"
"No one had a choice! Everyone who ended up in this fucking war did it because they didn't have another choice! Whether it be because they knew the world would go to hell along with their own lives, or because they were trying to guarantee the survival of their friends, family, or their own selves, no one had the choice."
"That is a lie! Ev--"
"You're so bloody stupid! You are so unaware of the bullshit that comes out of your mouth, and I can't help but wonder if you're one of those liars who can't convince anyone but themselves about what they say!"
"What are you on about?" Hermione exclaimed, throwing up her hands.
"All that shit you fed to Brown. I know your mighty noble act, Granger, and--"
"That was the truth!"
"Bullshit! Bull. Shit. You've given up all you know of your former life to be in this war, and with a sacrifice like that, you want to be remembered for it. Everyone in the world wants to be remembered for something, and--"
"Don't pretend you know me! Don't. You. Dare. Because if you knew me at all, you would know that I don't want to be remembered for this! I don't want to be remembered for having killed people, and--"
"Oh, come off it, you--"
"--something that bettered society, and wasn't achieved through violent means but--"
"--fucking high horse, always taking the high road but ducking your head--"
"--not that I'm not proud of having done the best I could here, but I don't need some sort of--"
"--like it or not, that's what had to be done, and what has always had to be done. People know that when you--"
"--have a choice. You had a choice, and you chose to--"
"--with... I never had a choice! No one did! Why is that so hard for you to--"
"--just as much as I did, and Neville, and Ron, and--"
"--everything in our lives shapes us to the road we're ultimately going to take. I'm talking about survival here; I'm talking about the best option. And no one is going to run away from this when it means they will lose the things most important to--"
"--and fine, maybe Harry did have a choice, but it wasn't much of one. Was he just going to stand around and let people die? That's not in his character, and--"
"Exactly! Fucking exactly! Potter wasn't going to let people die, because of his character, because who he was and how he felt made it so that he didn't have a choice--"
"That's exactly what I've been trying to say!"
"You--"
"Jesus, Draco! You're...you're so..." Hermione yells, or growls, or something in between and slams the fridge door shut. Something falls, shatters inside, but she's already walking away and far too angry to care about a mess.
She makes it five steps into the living room before he grabs her arm, flinging her back so hard there is a moment of pain in which she is sure he has pulled her arm out of the socket. She stumbles back against him and jerks forward to break the contact nearly as quickly as she had found herself there.
"Why the hell is it always about Potter for you?" Draco screams this question in such a way that, despite the loud volume just seconds ago, makes her jump.
"What?" She doesn't know why this comes out as a whisper, or why she is so slow to turn around and face him.
"The same thing I've been trying to tell you about everyone involved in this war, you just can't get unless I say it is directly and only pertaining to Potter. As if everyone else doesn't matter as much."
"I never said that! I never even--"
"Yes, you have. Yes, you have, and a thousand times over! It's in everything you do! You don't care if no one else is named for helping win the war, just as long as Potter is. It was Potter that didn't have a choice, the rest of us did. It was Potter--"
"Shut up."
"No, I don't think I will. It was Potter who would win this whole thing, and what we did just didn't matter nearly as much. It was Potter who didn't choose you to go with him, and it was Potter who built up this whole insecure bullshit that you have that you aren't good enough, or worthy enough, or didn't give enough to earn a fucking footnote in--"
"You don't know what you're talking about!" She jerks out of his grasp when she notices that she is still in it, matching his glare, but his seems harder somehow.
"I know exactly what I'm talking about, and I know exactly who you are, Granger, despite that you don't think I do," it won't be until later that she will think of this, remember, and feel bad. "Despite that I'm not Potter, so I must not."
"You're out of your mind! You know me just as well as Harry now, and perhaps..." She trails off. Did he? He is sneering down at her.
"Perhaps you should start judging your own worth rather than taking it as whatever you think Potter deems it to be--"
"That--"
"I know the real reason why you don't care about being mentioned in history. I know that you know it as well. You're not ashamed of your participation in this war, don't pretend you are. You're ashamed that it wasn't enough. But Potter? Potter's must be enough, so he should get credit where credit--"
"I--"
"You're fighting an entire war to prove to the other side that you're worthy of everything they are. Why is it different when it comes to your friends, Granger? What the hell is wrong with you?"
She stares up at him, jaw slack, and then shoves him. She slams two open palms into his chest and thrusts her weight forward, and then she does it again. He doesn't come after her when she leaves this time.
Day: 1443; Hour: 13
"This is getting excessive."
"No shit," Seamus mutters darkly, staring at the cottage in front of them, the flames vicious and hot against their faces.
"It's like they know our next move before we even get here. Step ahead or whatever." Lavender sighs heavily and yanks her foot from the mud she was sinking in.
Hermione pauses with Lavender's thoughts, turning to look at Harold and is surprised to find Draco already staring at him. Because war makes you paranoid - because Draco does. Because Harold was new amongst bonds of trust, and war formed things like spies and weak lines. Draco looked away before Harold caught them, but Hermione is forced to drop her awkward eyes to Draco's shoes as they turn in the slosh.
"Let's go."
Day: 1443; Hour: 19
"I might be sorry."
Draco raises his eyebrows in that way that tells her 'this is going to be interesting' while managing to look completely disinterested. Hermione then realizes that her nose is sticking straight up in the air and for someone who is trying to apologize it looks too much like she is expecting one. She might be.
"I shouldn't have shoved you like that. I realize that I might have...Harry issues," a twitch of a smirk and she glares at it. "It's a long process, to try to define yourself when you lose the things that used to...but I'm sure you know all about that. In a harder way, even."
"Granger, have you been drinking?" She glares at him, her hands dropping the nervous yanking of her fingers and her shoulders pulling back from their slump. Later she'll wonder if that had been his point - he has a harsh sort of kindness to him, and he also grew uncomfortable with her emotions.
"You do know me, Draco. So there's no reason for me to tell you that it wasn't just because of recovery time that I didn't invite Harry to come with us. I can be petty, maybe. I'm holding a grudge. And...and I want him to see what's like, I guess, and God that sounds so bad when I say it out loud."
"Don't worry, Granger. I'm well acquainted with the darker sides of you." He is acting as if the parchment with three lines written on it is in a secret code he's trying to figure out. Really, she knows it is because he's paying close attention but he doesn't want to look the part.
"I know," she whispers, and is a little surprised when the shame does not come. Perhaps because he never made her feel as if it was something to be ashamed of. "You most of all, I would think. But there's another reason why I didn't tell Harry - I didn't think to, not until later. Because I'm not defined by him or Ron. I love them, but they no longer make up who I am. And I just...I just didn't realize until after I left that it was even an option to bring Harry."
"And you don't judge your worth by what Potter thinks of you?" Draco raises an eyebrow and sits back, leveling his stare on her and giving up the pretense.
"Don't we all judge our worth by what our friends and family think of us? On how we are to other people?"
"I would have killed myself a long time ago," Draco drawls, and Hermione has no idea how she can laugh about that, but she does. She is gratified by the slow smile on his lips before ducking her head to regain her point.
"There's a big part of me that takes into account what my friends judge of my worth, I'll admit that, and I don't know if that will ever change. But there's still a part of me that is proud of who I am despite anything - that's why I'm 'bossy' when no one likes it, and why I was smart when it wasn't cool, for example."
"You certainly never had a problem with either of those." He smirked and she throws her bag of popcorn at him in retaliation, the kernels flying all over his lap and the couch. She makes a disgruntled noise when he grabs a handful and he laughs at her.
"I saw how Harry was in school. I could only imagine how bad it was for him during the war. Harry is the sort of man who reads the list of casualties and blames himself for every one of them - you have to understand that. Ron and I, growing up, we just sort of knew we were the sidekicks to Harry. It took a long time to get over that."
"You're still not over it, Granger."
"Maybe not. But I understand that we all played our parts, and maybe we fought more than he did. But there is no way Harry ever gave less heart than anyone that fought in this war. He deserves--"
"I never said he didn't."
Hermione shrugs, walking toward him as he continued to munch on her popcorn. His eyes narrow at her growing proximity, and she can see his fingers tighten around the bag. "I just want you to know that I was honest when I said I didn't care about history. It's the future I want a part in, and I'll make my name there."
"Freeing house-elves, volunteer work in Africa, running the Ministry, adopting sick children, inventing the cure for insanity and at least thirty-five diseases within the first ten years?"
She smiled widely at him. "You know me so well," because she thought it was important that she say it again, the guilt still lingering over her accusation that he didn't.
He hums and jerks the bag over his head when she makes a quick lunge for it. She falls forward and snaps her hand up to catch her balance on his forehead, quickly planting her foot to the side of his leg to launch herself up toward his raised hand. He brings his arm back down again with a laugh and she growls at him.
"You have an obsession with snacks. God knows how many times we've found ourselves in this same--"
She is momentarily taken back by his reference to Muggle faith. She smiles because she knows it is because of her. "I think it's only fair to say that we both have an obsession--"
"No, I like snacks, you attack for the sake of them." Her attempts at chasing his darting hand were proving futile. "As far as obsession, I believe you ha--"
"Draco, come on, that's the last of them, and I--"
"I'm sorry, did I give the impression I could be swayed by your half-ass--"
"You will give those back--"
"--and threats?"
"Malfoy."
"Did...did you just whine at me?"
"No," she blushes, and collapses down into the couch next to him, glaring as he switches the bag to his other hand and holds it away from her.
"I've never heard you whine before," he sounds completely amused. "Well, except--"
"Shut up."
But it's gotten the idea in his head because he's giving her that half-lidded cocky look that always makes her breath come a little faster. "You know, you can earn them back."
Hermione is quick with her plan, because she has always been quick with planning. "Is that so?"
He sticks his tongue against his cheek when she moves to sit on his lap, and there's a lightness in his eyes that she always likes to put there. "Something can be arranged, I'm sure."
"And what do you want?" She runs her hands up his chest and to his shoulders, blushing as she asks because that sort of thing can't be helped with her.
"I'm not sure," he feigns disinterest, humming in bored contemplation, but his hand runs up her thigh in a manner too possessive for his act.
She isn't used to this sort of playful with him, or anyone really, so she bows her head to speak against his neck. "I'm sure you can think of something."
She kisses him under his jaw, marking a hot path up to his ear, and hates how she's already breathing too fast. He flexes his hips up in reaction, and she can swear his heart is picking up tempo under her tongue. Perhaps she isn't the only one so easily affected.
His hands come up to her hips, his mouth down to her shoulder, and she almost backs out of her plan. It's really the principle by now though, and so she slides her hands down his arms, hearing the crinkling of the bag in his left hand. She's about to go for it when he pushes back into the cushion and ducks his chin, forcing her to lift her head from him. She can feel her heart pound harder with the look he gives her, his right hand coming up to grasp her face as he pulls her down to his mouth. His tongue flicks and winds around hers, and when she grinds down he grinds back up into her, and really, screw the popcorn.
Her hands leave his arms for the hem of his shirt, and his arm encircles her, the bag crinkling on impact with the floor as he drops it. She is just about to suggest a bedroom when she feels the smile on his lips, and her hands pause in their exploration of his skin as he pulls back.
"I win," he breathes, and makes to kiss her again, but she pulls back this time.
"What?"
"Distract me with the promise of sex in order to get the bag? I would say well played, love, but it wasn't."
Hermione narrowed her eyes, and she is sure her lips would have been thinning had they not already felt swollen. He laughs, and his thumb brushes across her cheekbone in a move so affectionate she's automatically not angry with him. She thinks this might be a dangerous thing.
She feels something that has her face dropping the saucy look and her eyes darting up and away from the welcoming dark grey in front of her. Lavender is walking silently into the room, stifling a yawn, her eyes glued to the white of Draco's head. Hermione is positive her heart and breath have stopped, but not in the way that she is aware of it. The world goes strangely out of focus, and though a thousand things shoot across the forefront of her mind, she remains statuesque and silent.
"Draco, do you have the plans and layouts for tomorrow?"
Draco's whole body goes stiff under hers, and Hermione thinks it's too late of a reaction. "Why?"
Lavender continues walking into the room as if it's completely normal. As if finding Hermione Granger sitting in the lap of Draco Malfoy is something she sees everyday. Hermione's vision is blurred, and she realizes - because she has known it well enough - that this is full-blown panic mode. Her hands shake on Draco's shoulders, his hand falls away from her face, but his arm still remains around her and she doesn't know why.
Though it really is too late to come up with excuses. I was examining his teeth, I was trying to experiment with textures, I'm completely pissed so I don't even know where I am - oh, is that Draco Malfoy?
"Hermione." She breaks from her thoughts to focus on him, and he must be reading the wild look on her face because it is rare for him to say her name, and like that. She becomes aware of his hand at her hip and the slight pressure that lets her know it's time to get off his lap.
"Right," she practically chokes the word out, and Draco is still giving her that inscrutable look as she backs up and onto her numb feet.
"So? Can Harold and I look at them, or are you just going to keep them all to yourself? You know we have the right-- sorry for interrupting, Hermione - but we have the right to look at those plans..."
Lavender's voice trailed away as Hermione somehow made it to her bedroom. She closed her eyes and pressed her back to the door, trying to control her erratic breathing and calm her mind so she can actually think.
Draco did not come that night.
Day: 1444; Hour: 11
"Why the hell are you so twitchy?"
Hermione jumped, spilling hot tea onto her hand, and hissing through her teeth. "Wh-what?"
She had slept for two hours and twelve minutes last night. Probably less, but the clock had read 3:55 when she closed her eyes for the last time, and though it took her awhile to fall asleep after, she was counting those twelve minutes as sleep. Sometimes she lied to herself about how much sleep she got, a whole "mind-over-matter" business to keep her from trying to convince herself it was understandable if she head-on-table drooled the day away.
It had taken awhile for her to calm down enough to even begin to think of what had just happened. Then, as her analytical mind has the habit of doing, she tore each moment to pieces and evaluated them until her head felt numb. Draco and Lavender's utter lack of a reaction meant that neither one seemed to care. Though Hermione had been a bit too out of it to notice if Lavender was internally jumping for joy over the biggest bit of gossip to hit since...well, Hermione didn't even know when. Draco had tensed, but Hermione found by the yelling outside her door it was more to do with Harold requesting the plans and Draco's raging paranoia.
Hermione had The Epiphany around 9:27 that morning. While picking apart body language and contemplating ways to keep Lavender quiet, she quite suddenly asked herself why she even cared. Ron would have a heart attack, Harry might die of shock, and whispers of rumors and cruel words would follow her for God knew how long.
Hermione realized that there wasn't much of a reason to keep it such a secret. It wasn't like Draco was a Death Eater or something, and if he was, the whole thing wouldn't have started anyway. Draco's words had dug at her gut after The Epiphany when she got it. When she understood that the whole reason she was hiding the thing from everyone was because she wanted to escape their judgment, the attacks on her character, the decline in her worth. Had that been part of what he had been talking about all this time? And furthermore, guilt, as dark and ugly as the hatred on a battlefield overwhelmed her with its suggestion - Draco probably thought she was ashamed of him. Why wouldn't he? She was hiding the fact that he, of all people, was her...lover, because of the fallout of associating herself with him. Because being with him was a decline in her worth, and how horrible was it for him to think that. To know it, even.
She had been ashamed, in the beginning of it all. Then the hiding was just normal, and it was so much easier to have it be a secret than to deal with the reactions of it being out in the open. She had enough to worry about, let alone the task of defending her character. Of defending his. That was the excuse she made, even after seeing his reaction the other night, when someone had been outside the door. She had tried to ignore it, to make her line of logical excuses. But now that she actually let herself think about the entire situation, she felt horrible. Guilt-ridden and burdened more by the idea that he had known about how she felt with worth than the idea of what was to come when other people found out.
At 10:02, she stopped caring. So, they would know. They would know that she was having a sexual relationship with someone who was not her boyfriend. They would know that it was Draco Malfoy; respected, feared, and hated Malfoy. The whispers and looks that exploded behind Lavender's back would now be behind hers, and maybe worse. But Hermione had faced Death Eaters, war, murder, and the death of her friends. Everything paled in comparison to that. She was not afraid.
Just, as Lavender pointed out, twitchy.
"Is this about last night?" Lavender whispers this, causing Hermione to raise her eyes to hers in surprise of her caution.
Hermione didn't know how people would react, and what they would say. She is nervous, because it takes someone saying something harsh for to be angry. "Yes."
"Hermione," Lavender laughs, takes a bite of her pancake, shakes her head. "What's the difference between people knowing and people seeing? Come on."
"What?" She is unintelligent in the morning. Fine, just when she's unsure. "You already knew?"
Lavender looks at her like Hermione might be playing a game, and then like she is naïve. Hermione takes great offense. "How could I not? Do you notice how often I'm in the same place as you two? You've had the whole shagging vibe going forever, and please -- do you guys realize how loud you can be sometimes? There's no mistaking certain sounds you know."
Hermione's eyes are large and blink unseeing at her cup of tea, face hot and body awkward. "So everyone knows?"
"I don't know. No one really talks about it. There's other things to worry about it, you know?"
"No one says anything?" Hermione looks up, eyebrow arched in disbelief.
Lavender looks at her a little too long before dropping her eyes to her breakfast, shrugging. "Nothing important, Hermione. Nothing that matters."
"Oh." That, then. "How long have you known?"
"Merlin...a year? Maybe more, maybe less. I heard your bed squeaking one night, and...fine, I spied, and there's no one else with that white hair that could have been walking out of your door later, you know?"
A year? She had known for that long, and whoever else had as well, and Hermione had just kept on going unaware? It was all old news then. Jesus.
"I'll admit, I wouldn't think Draco, of all people, you know? I figured you would find a more...well, you know. And I already tried out that--" Hermione's head shot up so fast and her glare so intense that Lavender immediately stops and pushes back in her chair.
Lavender could have been a hypocrite and called her anything she wanted, but the last thing Hermione was willing to hear from her was about her past hookups with Draco. By the look on Lavender's face she understands, belatedly, that she might have given something more away by the fierceness of her reaction.
"Hermione," Lavender whispers, and Hermione blushes, drops her head, breathes in deep. "It's okay. I mean, it happens, you know? And...and who really cares anymore."
"Right."
"The war will be completely over soon, and we're all going to move on with our lives and forget about the stupid stuff that happened here. Malfoy will probably go disappear, and Harold and I will marry, and you'll be back with Harry and Ron. It'll all go back to...to a kind of normal."
Hermione doesn't notice that she stopped breathing until she only hears Lavender's in the long silence of the room. If her voice comes out thick, Lavender pretends to not hear it. "Right."