Quiet Revolution

Chapter 5 - Storming Hearts, Desperate Weather

Bones, shaking like stones

All that we fall for

Homes, places we've grown

All of us are done for

The next week picked up, because her marks did. After receiving a full mark on Professor Flitwick's essay test and two bonus points, she realised the one person who had forced herself into working harder was Ron.

"Excellent job, Hermione," Professor Flitwick said as he trotted past her. She smiled at him as she put the paper neatly into her book bag.

"Thanks, Professor Flitwick." She beamed at him and pulled back a few strays of hair out of her face. She slung the bag over one shoulder as she stepped out into the corridor.

As soon as she stepped out, it hit her. She could feel the wary tension and sidelong glances being shot on her from every direction.

It was like this on the first day of school; everybody simply stared at her in the halls, awaiting her reaction to Harry Potter's death.

She was a little bemused that everyone was staring again - Harry didn't exactly die over the weekend.

But regardless, she wasn't going to give them anything to talk about so she kept on walking.

The steps below her began to break away from the top floor and she gripped the railing as she watched the stairs slowly level her down. The scene below her made her feel existentially small - it was really amazing how grand the castle was. The majestic backdrop it was nestled against came straight out of a detailed storybook fairytale, it seemed, and the Forbidden Forest that stood next to it enchanted the image so much more. The walls echoed with knowledge and every jeweled chandelier and beautifully coloured stained glass window made her feel like she was in a world of its own.

And yet, the old castle walls echoed with ancient secrets. And Hermione could bet that half, if not more, of those whispered pasts etched in the stone were merely the petty, kindergarten gossip of previous students.

Hogwarts was one extravagant oxymoron at times. And the fact that Draco Malfoy was still walking among the living only proved that further.

*

Ron wasn't in his room. Or the Great Hall. He couldn't have been in class because it was late in the evening. It was raining fiercely outside and the pellets of cold rain hit the windows like violently fired pebbles, so he couldn't have been practicing for Quidditch.

The library?

Give it a shot, she thought to herself. There was a time when he had better marks than you, remember?

A quick tug at her insides made her body tense up as she walked in brisk steps toward the library. That same irritating tension was dancing in the air around her as she made her way.

Merlin's beard. Why was everybody staring?

"Miss Granger," came a low nasal voice as it interrupted her thoughts. Professor Snape looked at her expectantly as he strode past her. "Far be it for me to pry into your personal life, but consider this a friendly warning - Mr. Potter may be gone, but I am aware that his... love for mischief has rubbed off on you and Mr. Weasley. We don't want another tragedy at Hogwarts, do we?"

What was going on?

But she simply nodded stiffly as the lightning crackled in the far distance.

"Miss Granger, may I have a word with you?"

She turned around once again and faced Professor McGonagall.

"Of course, Professor... what---"

"Come with me. I think this may take awhile." Professor McGonagall's voice was short, clipped... and what irked Hermione the most as she followed obediently was that it was not sympathetically strict. It was... cold and stiff, like ungloved hands drenched in icy snow.

It tugged harshly on her nerves and she figured that this was not a good time to ask Professor McGonagall on her opinion for new funding for S.P.E.W.

The thunder clapped loudly.

She shivered some more.

"Sit down."

She sat.

"Were you aware that Mr. Weasley has been brewing Retractatio for himself?"

She nodded, suddenly feeling lightheaded.

"You were? And you let him continue?"

She didn't answer. She didn't even want to breathe. She was too scared of the world that seemed so eagerly ready to hand her another heartache.

"Please... a little cooperation."

"I told him," Hermione whispered, "I told him all the bad effects of a denial potion. I told him that I've read about----"

"Miss Granger! This isn't about what you've read. I don't think Mr. Weasley has ever put his faith in books, I think he has always put his faith in you. Did you try to stop him?"

No, no she hadn't.

She felt like fragile porcelain as the next words crawled through her lips.

"...Is Ron okay?"

The anticipation was supposed to be the hardest part. The worst thing was supposed to be the wait. But this wasn't the case. Because she wanted the anticipation to choke her and she prayed that the wait would be forever. Nothing could have prepared her for the result from the numbing walk to the Infirmary.

Nothing could have prepared her to see Ron, lying unconscious in bed.

"Miss Gran----"

She didn't hear the rest. She didn't want to see Ron like this. She didn't want to see his limp red hair. His flour patted face. And his glassy eyes that looked up at her.

The first person she saw was Seamus Finnigan who she literally ran into as she tore out of the hospital wing.

"Hermione!" he cried out as her trembling figure fell flat against his. "Have you seen Ron? Are you all right?"

She looked up at him and promptly broke away and continued running.

"Don't worry! He's not dead, Hermione!" she heard Seamus yell after her.

No, but Harry was. And though Ron was still physically alive, she was sure that he had died long before today.

*

The library was empty, as it tended to be late at night. It was always more comfortable to study in one's common room during harsh weather. The rumbling storm brewed heavily outside as Hermione violently flipped through the book that she had slammed down on the table in front of her. She felt her heart beating out of its ribcage and her legs felt like lukewarm jelly as she read.

Retractatio, when overdosed on, had no cure. But survival is possible. She scanned a few past cases cited by the book and didn't even think to put it back on the shelf as she left.

It was late - too late for a certain "Miss Granger" to be in the halls by herself. So she headed back to her room and grabbed Harry's invisibility cloak and left the Gryffindor common room out back into the corridors.

The large banner hanging over the entrance of the Great Hall in honour of Harry Potter only crushed her already broken heart into rusty shards.

"Harry..." she whispered. She was a miserable, walking wreck, tangled under the fine embroidery of the smooth cloak.

She let out quiet whimper and suddenly didn't care about saving face.

She missed Harry so much that the emotional anchors dragging her down felt worse than being pierced in the heart with a sharp, rusted dagger. She wanted so desperately for Ron to be with her at this very moment that she would have torn apart her perfect record at Hogwarts and sold her soul to the devil if it meant for him to be in her company again, just like he had always been in the years before.

When she stepped outside, the cold bitter rain fell against her shield. The wetness soaked in through her shoes. The courtyard was painted dark and the rain, wind, and cold continued to battle fiercely in the air all around her.

And she saw him. Just like she had on the first day of school, he sat on the stone bench with a large black umbrella clutched in his hands.

She knew she would find him here. She took off her cloak and walked toward him.

He looked up at her slowly, no trace of surprise or expectance on his face, and stood up, still holding onto his umbrella.

"...Harry's dead," she said softly as the wind pulled a few stray strands of hair across her face. Her lip trembled but she kept on speaking.

"And... Ron just might as well be. I've read up on what I could and there doesn't seem to be a reasonable enough cure. He could very well be in a waking coma for the rest of his life."

The stare on Malfoy's face was less than malicious, but it had not reached sympathy just yet. He kept on studying her face.

The sight of Hermione Granger, on the brink of tears and crumbling, in front of him did not satisfy him like he thought it would have all during his years of living. Instead, he felt this strange sort of pity for her. He was incredibly shocked at himself for not being his usual confrontational, bastardly self. Maybe because she was a wreck - maybe because she was a ruin.

And she was drenched and clawing onto herself tightly for even a faint bit of damp warmth.

Regardless of her blood she is still just a girl, he thought to himself as excuse.

He handed her his umbrella. She cautiously took it and, without a word, grasped onto it as it slowly began to peel the layers of rain away from her face.

"This is my entire fault. I... have to save Ron, and I have to save Harry."

The rain died down a bit and the winds treaded gently now. The soft clapping sprinkles tap-danced all around them. Malfoy dipped his head back slightly so the threads of silvery blond hair wouldn't fall into his eyes.

Her next words flew out in a tragic whisper.

"I need your help."

He looked at her; she gazed back up at him from underneath his umbrella. What right did this Mudblood have, really? To ask him a thousand and one questions about the exact same offer he had given her earlier and then proceed to throw him out of her room like some street rat. And now she had come back, a little more rumpled with a few tears tossed in and thought she could get her way? Had it been him in her situation, she wouldn't even have batted a single know-it-all eyelash.

But he knew the truth.

He knew that he needed her help too.

He noticed how hard she was clutching the umbrella handle. Her knuckles were a powdery white and she swallowed her tears violently as she looked up at him.

Not being alive and not being exactly dead was tiring. It was confusing. And it hurt too much to be worth the usual waste of petty confrontational arguments that ended up in empty frustration.

So he simply nodded down at her.

"I'll help you."

And so, it began.