Chapter Note
IMPORTANT TW: emotional abuse and suicidal ideation
The stark white floors glared at Hermione from beneath her feet, too bright and too shiny to look at for long. Perhaps if she had taken something for the headache clanging in her forehead, it wouldn't have been so difficult to watch where she was walking
Not that it mattered. After pacing back and forth over this stretch of the corridor for nearly an hour, Hermione had quite memorized the area. She could continue walking with her eyes closed, if she
wanted.
They still hadn't told her why she needed to be here. She'd tried to beg off more than once. insisting that her presence would only make things worse for him. But Harry had insisted, in that
firm, serious way of his that told her something was wrong. Still, Hermione couldn't imagine how she could help Ron. If something had gone wrong with her Memory Charm, she was sure it would be best to let the mind healers of St. Mungo's handle it.
Harry had gone to find Ron shortly after Hermione had left Draco's flat, when she'd sent him a message to inform him what she'd done. He'd written back an hour later, letting her know that he'd found Ron still passed out in the forest. Ron had responded to Harry's revival spell, but he'd been confused enough that Harry had decided to take him to the hospital.
Hermione heard a muffled voice through the door as she passed again. It sounded like Ron, but she couldn't be sure.
His parents had called the day after it happened, insisting they didn't blame her. Ginny had been downright proud of Hermione for what she'd done, while Harry had kept his opinions to himself.
But, seeing as he hadn't reported her, despite the fact that what she had done was patently illegal, she supposed he didn't completely hate her for it.
Depending on how well it worked, Hermione had decided not to hate herself for it either.
Sighing, she conjured a chair and sat, bracing her head in her hands. A healer passed by, and
Hermione felt grateful that they minded their business. She didn't feel like answering the question,
"Are you alright?" again.
A restless, uncomfortable energy buzzed in her, screaming at her to leave. But Harry had asked her to be here early, just in case they needed to ask her questions during Ron's testing. That was fair, she supposed. She'd changed Ron's view of reality. The least she could do was stick around long enough to make sure she had done her job well.
A rushing sound built in her ears. Hermione gritted her teeth, knowing that her vision would cloud
over next. Not again.
As the bright hospital faded into a vision of a dark cliffside, Hermione's thoughts were overridden with visceral panic and boiling anger. She watched with murderous outrage as the distant figure of Draco raised a parasol and lifted her into the air, spinning slowly as they made their way up the side of the cliff. She wanted to scream, to hit something, to raise her wand and blow up the sky itself.
Hermione violently shook her head, trying to make the vivid memory go away. Eventually, she resorted to holding her breath and clutching handfuls of her hair, waiting for the vision to clear.
Slowly, her sight became gray, then finally returned to white floors and sensible shoes. Taking a deep breath, she scrubbed at the wet tracks on her cheeks, jaw still tightly clenched against the throbbing headache behind her eyes.
It had been easier with her parents, in a way. Even though it had killed her to remove herself from their minds, the memories that echoed in her head afterward had been happy, simple. Just comforting images of her muggle childhood, bittersweet and mild. Not these blood-soaked visions
of Rons misery and heartbreak.
Logically, she knew that the dread and rage she felt at the sight of her clutching Draco at the wedding was Ron's, not hers. Still, her mind battled, unable to stop the memories from replaying
from his viewpoint.
She should have protected herself better. Should have kept her mind more separate. The barrier between them had been far too muddy and out of control. If she'd done it any other day, one in which she hadn't just spent the entire night fighting for her life instead of sleeping, she would have been able to shield herself better. She could have stopped Ron's thoughts from infecting hers. It was awtul, not to know whose memories were causing her to feel so contlicted and run down
That was the worst part: the confusion. When she'd woken up to find herself in Draco's bed, wrapped in his arms as he'd breathed steadily into her hair, she hadn't known where her terror was coming from. Was it only Ron's thoughts of betrayal and distrust that had her scrambling away from Draco?
Hermione wanted to believe that. She wanted to think that, once the symptoms of her sloppy shielding had faded and she was no longer plagued with echoes of Ron's feelings anymore, she would be able to happily run back to Draco and apologize for leaving him with nothing more than a hastily scribbled note.
Unfortunately, there was one memory in particular that kept coming back to her, causing her gut to twist with fear every time she recalled it. One that wasn't from Ron's perspective.
From her seat in the hospital corridor, Hermione pulled out the wand, twisting it around in her fingers and searching for any remaining spots of blood
The wand. Not her wand. It didn't feel like hers anymore. Not now that it had seen mangled memories and bloody death and a silvery dragon with fiery breath.
Of those three things, the dragon should, in theory, have bothered her the least.
In her lifetime, Hermione had only known two people whose Patronuses had changed. They were both dead. Tonks was buried alongside Lupin, the person who had inspired her new Patronus.
together leaving their child an orphan. Snape had spent his life mourning a love that had never truly begun before he died as well, and was buried alone.
Not the best odds for a happily ever after.
Now that her life was no longer in danger, the memory of that dragon struck Hermione as a sort of
death sentence.
Her relationship with Ron had been turbulent and toxic and too intense, fueled by a cycle of explosive anger and teary forgiveness that had gone on for far too long. She'd loved him, truly, and because of that, she'd given him too many chances to change.
And even that love, intense as it was, had never resulted in her Patronus changing.
Her feelings for Draco, despite the fact that things between them were still new and tragile, were somehow even stronger than her feelings for Ron ever had been.
That terrified her.
Draco wasn't a safe person to fall for. He was volatile, secretive, controlling, and deadly literally deadly, as he had demonstrated only a few nights ago. True, he had changed since the war, but not completely.
She'd let Ron hurt her over and over. She'd stood by and allowed him to attempt to control her life How could she trust herself not to let Draco do the same? Would she be able to protect herself this time? Or would she remember the way he'd sacrificed himself for her on that bridge, and forgive him for anything?
She ignored the footsteps of another healer approaching. Hopefully this one would pass by without a word as well. Hermione kept her head down, attempting to shut out the swirl of thoughts battering at her skull behind her eyes.
"Ms. Granger."
Startled to hear her name, Hermione looked up. Narcissa Malfoy, wearing slate blue robes and an austere expression. was staring down at her. Hermione blinked. confused at Draco's mother's presence outside Ron's hospital room. Narcissa seemed to be just as surprised to see her here.
Suddenly, Hermione remembered: Draco's father's memory had been wiped after he was attacked
in Azkaban. His hospital room must be somewhere in this ward as well
Hermione stood awkwardly, giving Narcissa a bland expression that she hoped conveyed both her apologies at what her family was going through and her desperate wish not to talk at the moment. If
Narcissa understood the latter message, she ignored it.
"I didn't expect to see you here. Are you visiting someone as well?" Narcissa asked.
Hermione pursed her lips, unsure what she should say. She settled for a simple, "Yes," and hoped that would settle the matter.
Narcissa looked her up and down in that cool, contemplative way of hers. Hermione felt her back stiffen. She didn't like that look. It took in every detail: Hermione's unkempt hair, her sloppy clothes, the weary bags under her eyes. That look called her a mudblood without saying it, or maybe that was only Hermione's imagination. Narcissa elegantly adjusted the bag on her arm, looking around as if checking to make sure no one would see her speaking to such a bedraggled creature in public.
"I've been meaning to send you a note, as it happens. I'd thought to catch you at Draco's hearing-I was sorry to hear you were too ill to attend," Narcissa said. Hermione went rigid with guilt. There were many reasons she hadn't attended Draco's hearing, only one of which involved her health.
Narcissa didn't comment on Hermione's visible discomfort, instead choosing to move on. "TIl admit, Draco and I don't always see eye to eye on things especially lately, it seems. But I've told him I won't fight him on this. If you make him happy, I won't stand in your way."
Hermione's mind went blank.
"Sorry?" she asked thickly.
Narcissa caught herself before the sneer growing on her face reached full potency. She sniffed.
"Draco. My son?" she enunciated clearly, and Hermione stuffed down her offense. "He and I had a little chat when he came to visit his father. I got the impression you two were rather serious now, is that not correct? She looked as though she rather hoped Hermione would confirm that it was not.
In Tact. correct.
Hermione had no idea how to respond. That seemed to be fine with Narcissa, who smoothed her already perfect hair before continuing without Hermione's input.
"I hope it's alright that I sent a letter to your parents. I think it's important that I meet them now.
And I'm sure they'll want to meet Draco, if they haven't yet. Oh, and I wonder if you happen to know your ring size? Our jeweler will need to know as soon as possi-"
"Hermione? We're ready for y-oh."
Harry, who had poked his head out of Ron's room, stopped short when he saw who Hermione was speaking to.
Her head was spinning, brain scrambling to keep up.
"Er," Harry said, gaze bouncing between her and Narcissa. "Do you need a minute?"
"No," Narcissa answered with a smooth smile. "We can catch up another time. I was just leaving anyway. Good day, Ms. Granger. I'lI speak with you soon."
And with that, Narcissa Malfoy strode away, leaving Hermione to break the record for Most Confused Person in the entire mental injuries ward of St. Mungo's Hospital
Hermione felt as though her knees might give out.
What on earth had Draco said to her?
"Hermione?" Harry said again. "Are you okay?"
No. No, she was very much not okay. But, as she did not want to explain to Harry what was going
on with her, she nodded mutely and steeled herself to face Ron. Whatever Narcissa had been
talking about, she would deal with it later.
She followed Harry into the hospital room, taking in the dimmer atmosphere with interest. The lights above them had been turned off, leaving only the soft brightness of the window to illuminate
the room.
Ron stared at her from his bed. He was sitting up, wearing the mint green robes of a patient. He looked awful, she thought with a guilty gulp. Sunken eyes, sallow skin, and an air of hopelessness that made her wonder if the Dementors had gotten to him after she and Draco had left the forest.
He eyed her warily as she walked slowly forward, stomach lurching with anxiety. From the other side of his bed, a healer wearing thick spectacles glanced at her before returning his attention to the clipboard he was holding, scribbling something with a plain metal quill.
"How are you feeling?" she asked Ron awkwardly.
He had been told that someone had hit him with an unknown curse during the battle, leaving him with a head injury. The lie seemed a little thin to Hermione, but apparently Ron had woken to a bad headache and a fuzzy memory, so the explanation for why he was in hospital had seemed plausible
enougn to nim.
"Er, alright," Ron said, looking just as uncomfortable. "They said I'll be fine, anyway
Hermione repressed a sigh of relicf. He was lucid, and seemed much less angry than before. Both were good signs.
Ron looked down, fiddling with a loose thread on the ties of his hospital gown. She waited, heart pattering against her ribs. His gaze flicked to the healer in the corner, who was still reviewing his
"Erm, can we have a sec? To talk privately?" Ron asked the healer.
He looked as though he might object, but then Harry tilted his head at the door, seconding Ron's request. Silently, the healer nodded and swept from the room. Harry didn't follow, for which
Hermione was grateful.
Ron looked back at her again, then seemed to rethink that, instead tucking his head downward to look at his lap before speaking.
"I'm so sorry, Hermione," he croaked. "It's all my fault. All of it. I shouldn't...it all..." he took a large, shuddering breath, and Hermione realized with alarm that he was on the verge of tears.
"Sorry," he whispered again.
The room was quiet for a moment as Hermione processed what he was saying.
A potent mixture of guilt and relief made her head swim dangerously. It had worked. He believed
his new memories.
"I understand if you don't want to see me anymore," Ron said to his lap. "And I won't... I mean, I' back off From now on "
The ghost of her former selt, the version of her who would have been heartbroken to see Ron like this, who would have taken him into her arms and found some way to reassure him, rose up somewhere deep inside Hermione's chest. But her feet did not move, and her lips remained free of platitudes and pardons
"I...think that would be best," Hermione said. Ron winced.
"I didn't mean for it to go that far," he said. "I never wanted to hurt you, not really."
Hermione wasn't so sure that was true. She had heard his vengeful thoughts herselt, felt his scorching anger in her own chest. Instead of correcting him, she merely looked at him.
"I hope not," she said. "But either way, you did."
"Er, Hermione," Harry tried to interject, but Ron didn't let him continue.
"I know," he said, his voice raw. "And I don't expect you to forgive me. I just wanted to have the chance to say I'm sorry. But you're right. You're better off without me."
She's better off without you. The words Draco had said to him at the ball, the ones she had placed at the front of his memory when she had finished Obliviating him. It seemed the message had finally struck home.
He looked miserable, sitting in his hospital bed and refusing to meet her eyes. Again, she swallowed the urge to comfort him. But then Ron muttered something under his breath, something which made Hermione's eyes widen in alarm
"Everyone's better off without me.'
Harry stiffened next to her, his face stony and unreadable when Hermione looked at him. She noticed he didn't seem surprised.
So, that's why Harry had wanted her to come. Now that the repercussions of his actions had finally registered, Ron had gone from defensive to concerningly self-loathing.
It seemed Ron wasn't the only one whose actions had resulted in severe, unintended consequences.
Hermione thought about telling him. Perhaps if she explained that he wouldn't be thinking this
way if she hadn't altered his memory, he would bounce back. But somehow, she thought it was more likely he would only get angry or worse, double down and insist that she wouldn t have needed to Obliviate him if he had just left her alone in the first place, which would only compound his guilt.
Carefully, she considered her next words with a bitten lip.
"Ron." He didn't look up at the sound of his name, but his eyebrows twitched to show he was listening. "You're right that you need to let me go. That's important. But that doesn't mean you're some kind of villain who's incapable of change."
Ron didn't respond. His head turned away from her slightly, his jaw tight.
Hermione sighed, stepping forward to sit on the edge of his bed. Ron's shoulders tensed, but he didn't tell her to leave. Harry watched, looking both uncomfortable and worried.
"I'm not going to pretend that what happened between us can be fixed, Ron. I don't think either of us are naive enough to believe that," she said. "But that doesn't mean you're a lost cause."
"I am, though," he cut in, mouth twisting into a bitter frown. "Everyone hates me now. And they're right to. I've buggered everything up, and nothing's gonna change that."
Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione stopped him with a look.
"Ron. Nothing can erase what you've done, that's true. But you have your whole life ahead-_"
"Just stop it, Hermione!" Ron spat, finally meeting her eyes. "Nothing you say can make me feel
better. I don't deserve to feel better. And besides, you're not going to forgive me no matter what I say or do. You'll forgive Malfoy, for fuck's sake, but not me."
His words struck her chest like a Beater's bat. All the air seemed to rush from her lungs at once.
His expression, the way his hollow eyes were darkened by his lowered brow, the corners of his mouth pulling back like a bow that was ready to release arrows of hurtful words, reminded her of something. The day he'd stood at the opening of a tent, pack slung over one shoulder. "I get it. You choose him, " he'd said.
He'd meant to make her feel guilty about staying to hunt Horcruxes with Harry. He'd tried to make
her feel so terrible about her decision that she would change her mind about saving the world and leave with him instead.
Her stomach, which had been fluttering with nerves not too long ago, hardened into stone.
It wasn't her job to make him feel better. Not anymore. Ron would have mind healers and his family and Harry to lean on for support. But not her. Not anymore.
Hermione stood, striding past Harry for the door. Before she left, she turned back, meeting Ron's eyes once more.
"Draco worked for his forgiveness, Ron. Something you never bothered to try."
***
Later that night, Hermione found herself staring at the contents of her beaded bag, which she had
dumped unceremoniously onto the floor of her bedroom rather than methodically unpacking the way she usually did. The sporadic visions of Ron's memories coupled with the general foggy malaise she'd been feeling since coming home from the forest had worn her down, and she hadn't been able to care about things like tidiness.
Now, however, she found she did care. Because right on top of the pile, winking in the flickering light of the candles on her bedside table, was a gleaming silver envelope, unopened and rumpled from the time it had spent stashed in her little bag with her other belongings.
She couldn't ignore it, not anymore. Curiosity overwhelmed her, driving her fingers to lift it from the floor and slip under the seal to break it. Sitting on the edge of her bed, Hermione unfolded a surprisingly long piece of parchment.
The date in the top corner revealed that Draco had written it only two days after attending Harry's wedding. With interest, Hermione realized he had also written a title at the top.
An Essay on the Effects of Interhouse Dynamics on Romantic Relationships in Keeper of Hearts by
S.K. Scarlet
Written by Draco Malfoy
Hermione nearly dropped the letter.
It felt like a lifetime ago, that time she'd spoken with him on the phone and told him that she would forgive his brazen, most unfriendly advance that day in the library but only if he wrote a book
report about Keeper of Hearts. At the time, she'd only been joking. But it seemed he'd taken her seriously, at least, sort of.
Hermione settled, somewhat dizzily, onto the edge of her bed and began to read.
As a proud alumnus of the Slytherin house and a former Seeker of the Slytherin Quidditch team, I like to think that I have a good idea about what it's like to step into the shoes of Selvin Price, one of the two main characters in Keeper of Hearts by S. K. Scarlet. As such. I am burdened with the task of declaring that this book is the most unrealistic, angsty, sappy drivel I've ever had the misfortune to lay my eves upon.
However, having said that, I'll admit I read it twice. Even unrealistic, sappy drivel can be highly enjoyable. (I particularly liked the scene in Chapter 24, in which Miss Heart allows Selvin to get very creative with the handle of his broomstick. I may have to try that sometime.) And although the
maiority of the book is alarmingly naive when it comes to the true nature ot interhouse dvnamics. I found a tew seeds of truth scattered amongst the weeds.
In the first act of this gloriously ridiculous read, we meet Marie Heart, a Gryffindor with a heart of gold (because of course she is) who's determined to lead her Quidditch team to victory using a combination of bravery, friendship, and sheer pigheadedness--the likes of which I have seen in real life only once. Does she fly well? Fairly. Does she listen to her teammates? Rarely. Does she deserve to win the cup? Absolutely fucking not, in my opinion. She's been captain of this team for three bleeding years so far and hasn't won a single game against Slytherin in that time. She couldn't even get her Chasers to master a basic Porksoff Ploy. If that doesn't showcase her dismal leadership skills, I don't know what does.
Additionally, considering the fact that Slytherin is known for their delightfully vicious playing (which, by the way, is exactly how the game is intended to be played), it amazes me that Gryffindor scored a single point against them. Add that Selvin's Seeker is a top-notch player who caught the Snitch in every single game yet still didn't manage to win his team the cup, and I'm utterly convinced that this whole book is rubbish Gryflindor propaganda. Stytherin should have won. easily.
But this book isn't really about Quidditch, not entirely. It's about love (I think. I couldn't really tell, what with all the shagging in various broom closets and under the stands of the pitch). The relationship between Marie and Selvin starts out highly competitive and fraught with antagonistic history. Each loathes everything about the other. For some reason, the author thinks this is the
nertect foundation on which to build some kind of epic romance. While it might be true that the
passions of love and hatred are often separated by a thin line. I'm skeptical of Scarlet's portrayal of this dynamic, especially as it pertains to Slytherins and Gryffindors.
As everyone who once attended Hogwarts knows, Stythern house is home to many talented, ambitious, cunning, and exceptionally good-looking witches and wizards. Gryffindors, on the other hand, are known mainly for being stupid and loud, usually both at the same time. However, there's another issue that has historically separated these two houses. and I was surprised to find that scarlet made no mention of it whatsoever.
The author stayed carefully away from the topic of blood purity politics, instead choosing to reduce the source of the story's conflict to mere house rivalry. This approach, in my opinion, rings hollow. Slytherin and Gryffindor here are made out to be little more than opposing Quidditch teams rather than groups that have centuries-old, famously antagonistic legacies due to their stark differences of opinion surrounding the concept of Wizarding Greatness. Considering that Keeper of Hearts was first published only two years ago, I'm quite sure this would have been a conscious
decision. Scarlet could have used this story as an opportunity to explore what it means to be a Slytherin in a post-Voldemort world, and the effect that's had on future generations--yet she did not. I do wonder if the decision to avoid mention of politics was made by the editor rather than scarlet herself, as a means of appealing to a wider audience.
I find it very interesting that this book, which blatantly paints the house of Harry Potter as morally superior to the house of Lord Voldemort, has chosen to ignore the politics behind such a decision. At best, this is a wasted opportunity. House rivalry is fun and all, but a story between a pureblood Slytherin and a muggle-born Gryyfindor, for instance, would have been far more compelling.
More likely, however. This is a subtle and insidious attempt to begin sweeping our history under the rug. As someone who's spent the years since the Dark Lord's fall trying to recover from the pureblood supremacist mindset with which I was raised, I have a hard time believing that the omission of the political and historical origins of this rivalry was an innocent oversight. I understand that, for marketing purposes, this book was written to be a light and sexy page-turner with mass appeal. However, I think that only further highlights the complicit nature of Gryffindor and its supporters in the discussion of blood politics. Which "mass" is this meant to appeal to?
Surely not Slytherins, as this story is transparently pro-Gryffindor. Why, then, is this book's target demographic so uncomfortable with the discussion of blood purity? Our definitions of "Wizarding Greatness." it seems, may not be so different after
all, if even Gryffindors prefer to pretend that the
reason we hate each other has more to do with who caught the Snitch than which house raised its members to commit the genocide which occurred only two years previously.
That leads me to my main issue with this book: Selvin's internal conflict. While it makes sense for Selvin's character to start out with privileged arrogance, the fact that he ends the book with sugary devotion for his Gryffindor sweetheart feels forced and shallow, and I think it cheapens his character. After spending a couple of months snogging behind tapestries and rowing after matches, Selvin's prejudice against his rival all but dissolves.
That's not how change happens. Change is gruelingly difficult work- and while it may become easier over time, it never ends. Change is hell.
Marie's character, on the other hand, is far more developed and complex (again showing the author's preference for Gryffindors). She struggles to trust Selvin, and rightly so. He's manipulative and secretive, and he's got a track record of hurting people he cares about. If I'm being honest, I almost didn't want them to get together. Marie spends most of the book attempting to guard her heart more fiercely than Selvin guards the goalposts.
Marie's best friend, a Ravenclaw called Evanna, plays a key role in the interhouse dynamics of this story. Unlike Marie's other friends, Evanna offers the perspective of someone who has no stake in the outcome of the Quidditch rivalry. She's unbiased, and is therefore able to truly support Marie
where others couldn't.
If I could make one change to this book (as if I would stop at just one), it would be to give Selvin a similar support system. As I said earlier, change is hell, and I think Selvin would benefit from at least having some Hufflepuff wanker to talk to.
In the end, Selvin and Marie were able to overcome their sore feelings about the Quidditch Cup and choose to be together, despite the pressure from their peers to break up for good. I found it interesting how much of this decision was credited to Marie, even though what Selvin did was objectively more difficult. He turned his back on his team, his friends, his family, and his legacy to be with her, and all she did was give a little speech to her friends about acceptance and love. Here again, I find myself annoyed at the lack of emotional depth written into Selvin's character.
No matter how Selvin is written, I felt the need to protect Marie from him. She's still learning who
she is, still too young for all this. She won't understand her boundaries or her goals in life for some time. She needs space to figure out her identity, and someone safe to support her in that. Selvin might have changed, but I worry it's not enough. He needs time as well. If they broke up after leaving Hogwarts, I don't think that would be such a bad thing.
Perhaps, in five years or so, they'll meet again, crossing paths in some random muggle pub. Maybe he'll be brave enough to tell her she should break up with the prat she's dating and go out with him
instead. Maybe he will tell her the truth that he's thought about her every single day for the last five years, and the sight of her smile makes him feel like he's flying. Or maybe he'll be too cowardly to say all that, and instead just apologize for how he used to treat her in school.
Either way, he loved her. He loved her enough to sacrifice everything-the cup, his house, his pride. Love like that, which transcends everything else, it's not nothing. It's worth fighting for, and it's the reason I found myself flipping back to Chapter One instead of closing the book when I had finished reading. Some of us can only dream of a love like that.
~end of essay~
Hermione,
You shouldn't forgive me because I wrote this book report for you.
You should forgive me because I would go through the hell of change for the rest of my life, over and over again, for you.
Please call me.
-Draco Malfoy
Hermione set down the letter, ignoring the burning in her eyes and the tightness in her chest. She picked up the wand, her wand, and held it high.
"Expecto Patronum," she breathed.
To her surprise, a silver otter formed, twisting playfully in the air before her.
She swallowed thickly, gazing at the piece of herself she thought she'd lost forever. She should have known it wasn't gone. Her dragon, mighty and beautiful, existed within her as well, ready to protect her when she called for it. They were partners who represented her in different ways.
"Go to him," she whispered to the otter. "Tell him I'lI go through the hell of change for him, too."
The otter slipped out of sight.
Before the tears had dried from her cheeks, a knock sounded at her door.