Touchstone || Dramione

Chapter IX: Mudblood

It's raining again, making the early morning misty. The sun's rise tinges it an enchanting pink. It's a fairytale land, she decides, beyond a hero king's castle. Her hero. Her fairytale.

Hermione stays up through the night watching from her window, the Malfoy ring clasped in her hand. She's had a nightmare. She can't remember it, but she does remember one thing. Lucius Malfoy called to her, hateful, demanding. Desperate.

A dove coos from her windowsill.

She's reminded of a question she'd asked her father one day. 'I'm not a dove, daddy. Why do you insist on calling me that?'

'You're my little dove.' He'd said, smiling.

But he was wrong. She is no dove.

o - O - o

"When do you think he's going to give up?" Sera whispers, leaning close Hermione's ear.

"Never." She replies with a sigh, eyes fixed on Teddy.

"It's your turn to hide!" He bellows from his spot by the koi pond. They'd established it as the base for their game, which has dragged on for the last three hours.

"Don't you think we should take a break, Teddy?" Hermione coaxes. "Your mother needs our help preparing lunch."

"Don't leave!" Teddy yells.

"Hey Hermione," Sera hisses, her head nodding toward Nott who is sitting on the veranda with his wand out doing nothing. Well, Hermione considers conjuring cards and playing solitaire as nothing. Wasting time, in her opinion.

"It's okay, Teddy!" Hermione grins. "Uncle Theo will play with you!"

Nott's head jerks up with a snap, his eyes cutting toward them. "Uncle Theo will not."

"Uncle Theo loves hide-n-seek, Teddy! It's his favorite game!" Sera throws in.

"Uncle Theo is three seconds from hexing both of you." Nott purrs threateningly.

Hermione matches his glare. "Uncle Theo will play with Teddy, or he will find himself working with Andromeda and Malfoy in the kitchen."

His lips press together angrily before he rises from his seat, his shoulders sagging. "Tiresome witches."

Teddy scarcely notices this exchange, much more interested in making fish faces—quite literally—at the koi in the fish pond.

Sera winks impishly at Nott as they pass one another, but Hermione just turns up her nose, sniffing in distaste. He reciprocates with a snickering huff. Hermione's come to learn that combat has been an acquired taste for Nott. He is by no means afraid of it per se, but he's never sought it out. It's probably one of the main reasons why he never hung out with Malfoy in their time at Hogwarts. That and he had some dignity, unlike Crabbe and Goyle. He'd tell Malfoy off on his flim-flam any day of the week. Back then when appearances mattered so much to Malfoy, those types of confrontations ended friendships. And Nott isn't one to fuss over spoiled prats.

She remembers the night he'd arrived at Grimmauld Place, three years prior, his body bloody and his eyes tear-swollen. He'd hurried to the loo and puked until there was only bile to burn his lips. Hermione hadn't gone to him, but she overheard everything. She remembers seeing the nasty stain of black on his forearm and the commitment he made to the Order. Clear and resolute.

Hermione herself had escaped Riddle's clutches only hours earlier. Truth be told, she would have expected more from initiating the Curse of the Harlot that day. All it took was a whisper. She'd felt no different, looked no different, though everyone treated her as if she were an atomic bomb waiting to explode. It was that lapse in judgment that presented her with an escape.