To Fly

"To Fly"

1.

She wasn't quite sure how long she had been reading without a break. It had to be hours, at the very least, judging from the headachy feeling behind her eyes and the mistakes she kept making while taking notes. Book after book, scroll after scroll, the printed words had begun to blur together, to meld into an undistinguishable mass of black scratches.

She looked up to rest her eyes briefly, and gazed at those around her. The others looked at tired as she felt -- backs bowed, necks bent, eyes red and black-rimmed. Their eyes themselves had begun to hold a certain shiny glassiness. Some had even developed annoying twitches and tics, which their owners steadfastly ignored.

Most of the others in the library with her were Ravenclaws; after all, who better suited to combing through dusty tomes and books than the most studious students in the school? Of course, the Headmaster hadn't ordered anyone to do research for the War; everyone in the library had volunteered, as had she. She full well knew where her strengths lay. A quick survey of their needs was all it took for her to realize where she could be of most help. Her best friends, who in the past had so often ridiculed her book obsession, had not laughed when they heard her decision. They both had simply nodded and embraced her. After all, they had made their own decisions as well.

Books, books, back to the books. Recorders of history, storytellers of old demanded her attention. She dragged her rebelling eyes back to the printed page, trying to ignore the cots stacked conveniently nearby. No one was forced but everyone kept reading for as long as they reasonably could of their own volition. Only when they truly could not take it any longer would they stumble to the cots for a quick nap until they were roused again by duty and desperation.

She decided that after she finished this book, she'd find an empty cot to curl up on and try to sleep a bit.

2.

…sometimes oh sometimes oh sometimes sometimes sometimes i want to reach past these books stacked around me blast them away with a spell and leave the air clear of the smell of moldy parchment i want to leave this place this place where I must stay and fly out into the war wand waving curses flying i want to help harry and ron be by their side as we blast deatheaters into oblivion i want to leave this place i have carved for the past seven years and join my friends my brothers whom i've fought with screamed at argued with teased hugged and loved but instead i must play my strengths don't give into weakness ignore those who whisper about the gryffindor who does not go roaring into battle a gryffindor who is perhaps maybe possibly not as brave as the others…

…but maybe maybe maybe bravery has different forms besides leaping up with your wand waving curses flung from your lips maybe there's a bravery to do what you should instead of what you want a bravery to know where you belong and not to put yourself in danger…

…i tire of my kind of courage let me run out and be someone other than smart Hermione brightest witch of her age Hermione run to the library and find the answer Hermione…

3.

Time passed in a strange fashion. Sometimes minutes dragged; at other times hours flew. Her birthday came and went with almost no comment. There was no felicitations, no singing cake, no recognition. She wouldn't have even noticed its passing had it not been for three birthday cards smuggled to her: one from her parents, two from her best friends. It had been a surprise and a huge comfort to see those cards; from that day onward, she carried all three within her robes no matter where she went.

All school activities were ignored: classes, tests, even Halloween. Everyone worked, did what they could to help. Some, like her, researched possibilities and came up with new spells and counter-charms; some brewed potions, made weapons for the warriors; some worked with the Nurse to fix people up, to magic their limbs back on so they could run right back out and get them blown off again -- and some did the actual fighting, cast their lot, took their chances and hoped they would come back the victor.

Before she knew it, it was the Holidays. The Headmaster tried to send everyone home but nobody took up his proposal. Part of the reason was duty, a fervent need to continue to aid with the War effort. However, the other part of it was that everyone knew how dangerous it was to cross the Enemy's lines. Only those who had been specially trained could do it with any rate of success.

It was two, maybe three days before Christmas. She had gotten through precisely 1,040 pages of a particularly nasty tome when someone had shook her elbow and said that she was needed in the Great Hall. She went down, puzzled, to find her two best friends there.

She had run to them without hesitation, an involuntary cry escaping her lungs, and flung her arms around them both. They did the same and she had to hold her breath to stop the sobs of relief from escaping. When she felt their arms loosen, she stepped back and looked at them both full in the face.

The first wizard, oddly enough, didn't seem to have been changed drastically by the War. His dark hair was still as tousled as ever, his cheeks pinked from being out in the chill winter air. The angles of his face still remained in that in-between stage betwixt boy and man. He had gained some muscle and grew an inch or two, but that was nearly all the difference. He still moved a tad awkwardly, as he always did when not on broom or in Battle. His eyes, green as spring grass, were older and held no more innocence. Of course, after their fourth year, his eyes had never held innocence anymore. They had ever since only held age; she was continually surprised that they did not darken with it.

The second wizard, however, had changed greatly. Unlikely as it would seem, he had shot up in height even more, and now towered over her by nearly two heads. His brilliant red hair, which had brightened with the sun, was in desperate need of a haircut and his skin was pink as well and dotted with an uncountable number of freckles. She was surprised to see the hard lines around his normally mischievous mouth. His blue eyes were the only bit that had stayed the same; they reflected the constant struggle that they always held. The need to be the Knight he always wanted to be warred with the necessity of being the Companion. His desire to be utterly selfish fought with his sense of duty to do what was right and needed. When she tried to peer deeper into them to see how his Battle was going, he shifted his head slightly, as if to hide their unfathomable secrets from her.

They couldn't stay long; it was a miracle that they were able to pull away from the fighting at all. A few short hours were all they had. Still, to hold their hands as they talked about inconsequentials and gently ribbed her for her studiousness almost made up for the months of no contact. Almost.

Still, it was a good visit, one that she had needed. She returned to work energized, feeling alive for the first time in quite awhile. The need to discover a way to help augment their magical arsenal became her only goal. It made her feel as if she could bear to stay in the library for hours, reading tiny print that refused to give her the answers she needed.

4.

…no not that book or that one or this scroll or that entire bookcase i've looked through them all blast it where is it where is the spell the charm anything that would explode voldemort into a thousand dust motes so that they can come back to me so that we can spend our time learning instead of watching our friends die watching voldemort creep ever closer to hogwarts and why oh why does he want the school anyway and why oh why does he want harry who won't turn away and ron the stubborn git who won't leave his side ever since that fight fourth year won't even leave when harry asks him to and where is that bloody book the one that talked about those charms…

5.

She was in the library when first she heard -- where else would she be in the middle of the day? It had begun as a whisper, a rumor, and she had brushed it off. She had heard the same thing many times before and it had always turned out to be untrue. But then the Deputy Headmistress had entered the library and asked everyone to listen. She didn't remember everything the Headmistress had said, not much had registered beyond the fact that they were missing, had been missing for quite some time, and even the Headmaster didn't know quite what to do. She did remember the glances, the pitying looks, and the light hand on her shoulder as the Headmistress stopped at her table to buzz more words into her ear. She didn't cry because there was nothing to cry over, no bodies or remains. Besides, they might still be alive and there was no concrete evidence to destroy that thought.

6.

…they don't know where they are they don't where harry and ron were where ron and harry are and they didn't come back this isn't real simply unreal and the pages before me aren't real and the book isn't real and the table and chair and walls and turrets and dark forces waiting to rip us to shreds aren't real and I'm not real if they aren't real and breathing and telling me how silly i'm being where are those cards those birthday cards it's the most recent thing I have from their hands and maybe I can make a homing charm except the other homing charms haven't worked but that wasn't me trying no it wasn't…

...please let them come back safe please let me stay sane please let them come back safe come back safe come back come back come back comebackcomebackcomebackcomebackcomebackcomeback...

7.

Chin on her arms, arms resting in turn on the windowsill, she curled up beneath the window and gazed out at the night. This was the tallest tower at the school, and thus provided the best view of the grounds, of the grass that had been stripped away by nearly one year's worth of fighting.

It was a quiet night. The Enemy usually let up when the sun dipped below the horizon. He was not so kind when it came to other things. Bodies, decomposing, littered the broad green that was deemed the Battle Field. If anyone dared to try and rescue them, they would be descended upon by curses from the Enemy.

She rose to her knees and leaned her head out, ignoring the ghastly stench below. Her eyes, brown as maple wood, swept the silent tents, the motionless bodies. They darted to the trees, the forest, the lake, picking out individual figures and dismissing them. She had done this every dusk since Easter. She searched through the gloaming for two familiar silhouettes, for two heads of coal and fire, the flame towering over the coal yet the coal sustaining the fire. She smiled at her slight foray into poetic thoughts.

Both coal and fire were missing in action. Both were most probably dead. Yet still there was hope at the school, even though weeks had passed. Because the coal was a true-blue, honest-to-goodness Hero, and because in the fire burned the passion of a Knight (even if he did not recognize it in himself), still there was hope -- wretched hope, onto which she clung with the ferocity of despair -- both to buoy her and strangle her.

When she had finished her ritual search, she pulled herself upright, steadying against the window frame. She continued to gaze downward out the window; a look of contemplation crept into her eyes. It was very true that this was the highest tower; as her gaze covered its entire height, it took eons to rise from the dark ground below.

Slowly, she pulled a foot up and rested it on the edge of the window. Her eyes became still, he thoughts grew serious, fighting between contradictory feelings. Her body tensed; her fingers tightened on the stone. Slowly, she leaned forward and balanced there, her foot slipping only a tiny bit as she shifted her weight. She balanced there, mesmerized by the ground so far below.

"…where…hell…you…tower?…answer…mione."

She paused and turned her head slightly, listening to the tired voice that floated to her through the trapdoor.

"We've found…charm…might work…need your…are you there?"

The struggle in her eyes ceased. She gave the smallest of sighs, barely expelling any air. Whether it was one of relief or of annoyance, even she could not tell.

"Coming." She directed the answer down below and a relieved exclamation floated up to her. As the voice drifted away, she turned her head again to gaze at the grounds below that held no black and only the wrong sort of red.

"Coming," she whispered, pulling her foot off the sill. Her fingers still clenched the stone and she deliberately relaxed them. When her arms hung lifeless at her side, she pulled her expression together, being careful to set her mouth in a pleasant smile and wipe away the skirmish in her eyes.

"Always coming," she said in a normal voice and made to climb down the ladder as she had done the day before and the day before that and the day before that…

8.

…and i think they're gone really gone truly gone and sometimes I want to fly off the divination tower just soar and let the ground end my thoughts but i can't because i can't because I must go on there is no reason it's not a choice really more of an order a command from nowhere and it doesn't matter how much I want to learn to fly without a broom without a wand because I can't I must be brave because I'm a gryffindor and gryffindors are brave and everyone sees me as a gryffindor and who wouldn't want to be a gryffindor and they were gryffindors and everyone watches me but they don't know that i won't fly won't jump because i simply can't and i won't because i just have to go on and where's another book so that i can think of something else…