Touchstone || Dramione

Chapter XI: Abyss

AUGUST

o - O - o  

It's the last day of July, just on the cusp of August, and Hermione didn't think the heat could get any worse. Everyone is sleeping, everyone but her thanks to another dream of stygian seas and Lucius' face. There'd been something else, too. The presence of another, but this Other never revealed itself. It was there, though. Of that she has no doubt. A second eerie certainty floats through her mind: it has been with her for a long time. Though, how long? The unease she feels at that is almost primitive, visceral.

She can't recall her conversation with Lucius, either, or if they ever had one, but the one clear thing she does remember are the monsters. They'd breached the boiling surface of the black ocean, hungry and restless, reaching and groaning. To Hermione, they were the shadowy beasts from the primordial Chaos of the Greek mythologies. As she'd wrenched away from them a voice crackled up her skin from the roots of her feet like a bark of thunder. She'd screamed; it was the voice of this Other. Like Lucius, she can't remember what the Other said, but it feels, even now, like the last puzzle piece—the final chink of the cardinal cog sliding into place.

Why can't she remember?

She spins the Malfoy ring absently atop the cover of 'The Crimson Gospels' which she'd smacked such with a frustrated groan an hour ago. Blowing out a blustery sigh, she lifts the tail of her nightshirt and begins to fan her body. The material catches the stagnant air and creates a nice stirring of wind up her thighs to her breasts, but it's only a small appeasement. She casts another cooling charm.

You'd think the AC would do a better job.

Getting up, she ventures over and opens both her windows, tucking the curtains off to the side to allow in as much night air as possible. The moon is nonexistent tonight, only the lazy shimmer of summer stars give what little light they can, which isn't much at all.

Whiskey is thankfully off flying her progress report to Savage and should reach him in the next few days. Sera has also sent off her letter to Sophia Laveau, surprisingly without much question from Andromeda, but the woman's normally soft eyes have hardened into understanding since then. Hermione thinks that Andromeda might actually be considering helping them with whatever reckless idea she's assumed they are planning. Needless to say, Hermione is both thankful and unsettled by that certainty.

Nott has cracked a few jokes subsequent to their conversation, which is a vast improvement, one all other house occupants are grateful for. Hermione has even caught Malfoy casting furtive glances his way and she can sense that he wants to talk with him. Perhaps bridge the gap? Malfoy has been watching her, too, making sure this time that she notices. His blatant ogling has put her on edge, more so than normal. Their little game—he's waiting for her to initiate it.

He should be careful what he instigates. She's feeling just snarky enough right now to storm into his room, naked or not, sleeping or not, and badger him until he screeches from insanity.

He'd deliberately opened her bathroom door one night after a shower while he was dressing for bed. She'd made quite an effort not to look in on him, but even basic principles have to be broken periodically. The dagger she'd given him after her discussion with Sera lay on the vanity while he brushed and flossed his teeth. The silver of the blade had winked impishly at her, daring her... like Malfoy's eyes.

From where she sat, she watched him carefully slide the floss between each tooth and her gaze focused on the one missing molar. As if understanding her train of thought, and he had, he stared at her through the mirror. They simply watched one another, Hermione absorbing every jagged flaw marring his person and Malfoy following the few droplets of sweat trickling down her neck to the valley of her breasts below her tank top. Her hair was a mess that afternoon, nothing but frizz and plastered ringlets.